Eternal Avenger
by Morning Dew
Summary: Born in 1367, for over 500 years he's been a wanderer, friend, lover, and avenger. Fate leads him to 1900 New York, where the battle between Good and Evil will rage through the city. Can he resist the call of his vampiric ancestry?
1. Prelude

DISCLAIMER: Oh for God's sake, I don't own the newsies! Let's make this easy, though. I only own Runner Conlon, Morning Dew, River, Malakai, Micah, Jeshua, Ahdi, and Father Romanik. ^_^ Newsies are owned by Disney; everyone else owns themselves. 

A.N: I have no belief in the occult; all elements of this story which deal with practices of magic are mere reproductions of my imagination. ^_^ This story will be of dark nature, however, and so if you at any time are offended by its content I apologize ahead of time. 

FULL SUMMARY: Once heir to a ghastly empire, Runner Conlon turned his back on Evil long ago, instantly labeled an outcast and renegade by those who thought him daft. Yet as the powers of darkness begin to descend on humanity, Runner knows the fate of mankind will rely on his courage alone, and so armed with a sword forged by the archangel Michael and ordained with a righteous quest, he travels across the lands avenging those his rivals heartlessly slaughter on a fierce vendetta for the races. But being a halfblood immortal, he must first fight his own demons and denounce the call of his vampiric ancestors lest he succumb to Evil himself. 

**_~*ETERNAL AVENGER*~_**

_PRELUDE: Forgotten Records_

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            _An Undisclosed Location; Autumn 2007_

            What's left for one to achieve when there is nothing more but the dark, cold emptiness that stretches out for centuries behind you? It is an inquiry I have too often posed to myself, a dizzy paradox that sees no end. Many a night have I tried to suppress its constant plead to be freed from the fetters of the unknown, yet it always finds the strength to obliterate the shackles that would otherwise constrain it to the pit of my stomach. _Entertain me_, it pleads. _Unleash the truth_. But I know all too well the consequences that would soon follow were I to commit such a folly. 

            The truth? A bitter laugh escapes my lips. How many times has man shielded his eyes from the truth as to not be blinded by that which he had adamantly refused to take faith in for the entirety of his existence? I highly doubted there were any among the mortals who still pursued truth and the power such knowledge grants. Society had evolved into a fruitless system of conformed masses and materialistic, brainwashed fools who couldn't speak from their own heart had their very life depended on it. The government had done well to deny them such rights. Man was no longer an individual, but another number in the census, another member of some propaganda-consuming occult that would never amount to anything. 

            There was a time, however, when man was given a choice. Freedom and liberty were ideas that rung out among the populations like the sweet melodic entreaties of a church choir's song. In those days, one had the dynamic opportunity to leave his handprint on history for all time, an engraving that would undoubtedly remain unscarred upon the stone of our ancestors. Revolutions rallied the spirits of both the valiant and faint-hearted alike; the quest for wisdom and justice was not nearly ignored as it has become in this age. Monuments rose and fell, and the pawns of the heavens battled out their creeds upon the lands of the earth.

            Back then, I admired Man. In my eyes, he was much like the war heroes you read about in the great histories of the nations, clad in the insignias of his king and brandishing the glistening blade of his sword like a patriotic soul. Back then, he was not as shallow as the races have become in this age and his heart was of pure nature. He would never even contemplate over betraying a companion, and he obeyed the chivalric codes with an inspiring obedience. 

            The vociferous cacophony of bombs in the distance shatters my reverie. Strolling down the walks of the city, I offer but a single glance towards the noise before continuing on my way. The skies resemble a woven blanket of dust in their grey nature, with streaks of sanguine and orange degrading their beauty. Clouds of smoke arise from far off debris like ghosts resurrecting from their graves and the stench of gunpowder is like alcohol held under one's nose. Upon the block I traverse, the edifices that were once homes and markets have been reduced to demolished structures, a child's toys ruined with one great hand swipe. The dark streets, for the last of the city's lamp poles were destroyed months ago, are void of any pedestrians and for a moment I'm almost made to believe that I've happened onto a ghost town.

            Rubbish is scattered across the area as if the skies had rained down decomposition; a stray dog scavenges through the mess in hopes of finding dinner. His skin is pulled tight over his belly, exposing a full set of ribs. When at last he detects my presence, his head lowers in a defending stance before he trots off in an agitated demeanor. I watch him for a moment, and then proceed to my destination. 

            It is, after all, past curfew, and though I have the means by which to liberate myself were I to be captured by the Federation, I prefer to not take any chances this particular night and quicken my current gait into a light jog. Of the midnight hour the time may be, yet I'm still able to navigate my way through the darkness and finally find myself before the massive cathedral that has come to be a home to me these past few weeks. It's the only structure in the city still intact, and so I offer many thanks whenever I see it face another day. 

            I climb the steps leading to the cathedral's hardwood doors with much haste, my hand gliding across the cool iron of the railing beside me as if caressing ice, and moments later, I'm finally within the protective walls of the sanctuary. For the time being, I've left the anarchy of society behind me.

            The sanctuary is dimly lit by the illumination of hundreds of candles placed before the oil paintings of saints, martyrs, and archangels, and a careless glance upwards reminds me of the towering heights the cathedral takes on. Its stone interior sends chills across my flesh and I pull my trench coat closer for warmth, but something else pierces me with its freezing nature and there's nothing to remedy my soul's mourning when I once again am confronted with empty pews and pulpits. Faith is no longer the anchor for humanity. 

            I cast the matter aside and hurry past the entrance that will lead me downstairs into the basement. The entrance is hidden by a wool blanket upon which is written a story about footprints hung just above the passageway's frame and I lift the fabric up to walk under its weight before letting it fall back into place behind me. Lighted torches are affixed onto the walls enclosing the staircase I now descend in a spiraled formation, momentarily reminding me of the Roman Catacombs. My thoughts stray to the times of the early church before my attention is diverted onto a sight before me. The Haven.

            We call it so for it is the farthest away we can get from mankind. Perhaps were we to dig at a deeper level under ground, the distance might increase by a hundred fold, but we aren't _that desperate. The secluded library of the cathedral basement serves its purpose quite fine. When my foot leaves the last step and is rested upon solid ground, I take a pebble from my coat pocket and examine its intricacies as it lies on my palm. It's of oblong shape with a polished surface smoother than glass and bears the marking of a yin-yang. Squeezing it with my fingers, it warms up until it's much like a fairly hot coal in my hand and I hold it up, a bright ray of blue light emitting from its form. _

            The path for my feet has thus been illuminated and I can perambulate forth with an assurance that none wait to ambush me for whatever reasons. As I do so, I notice the cobwebs lining the room corners and the chipping mortar of the brick walls. Rats scurry across the floor at the sound of every footstep and the guttural moan of the wooden beams supporting the numerous bookshelves of the Haven elicit noises I would rather not hear. 

Another dropped bomb explodes onto the city; the earth shakes in response. I knew the chaotic hiatus would soon be broken. I further into the basement still guided by the pebble's light and stop a yard before a desk laden with stacks of paper, book volumes, and research files thrown atop each other to reach heights at least three feet tall. The almost inaudible sound of rummaging through drawer supplies reaches my ear and I smile. 

"Ahdi, working hard or hardly working?"

The rummaging stops and two hazel eyes peer over the edge of the desk where the stacked information will not block their vision. At the sight of me, they widen with excitement and their owner stands to her full height with a light laugh. Ahdi is truly a beautiful creature. Her heritage traces back to bloodlines from India and the country's rich culture is evident in her features. Her chocolate-colored tresses and smooth dark skin are treasures, and my moods brighten upon beholding them. 

Ahdi lays a hand upon one of the nearer stacks of records and sighs. "A little bit of both, I suppose. And what of you? I wasn't expecting you back so soon from your recent observation. Did all go well?" I bob my head once to affirm my success but she doesn't buy the claim. "River, you mustn't lie to me. We're the last of the Seekers, remember? The scions of the Gatherer Society; if we don't fulfill our duties, then…"

I hold my hands up in mock defense, having by then returned the pebble I had earlier used to its rightful place in my pocket. "I know this, Ahdi. You're merely regurgitating information I'm already aware of." I'm quite sure it had come out far more scathing than I had originally intended, for her expression seemed to sadden at the retort. "I'm…I'm sorry," I say to her softly. "But trust me, everything's fine. I've only returned to be reminded of something."

"Of what?"

For a long moment, I hold her gaze, finding tranquility in her warm eyes. "To be reminded of the last battle that was fought with heart." Her furrowed forehead makes obvious her confusion but I don't stay to elaborate. With a nod of farewell, I make my way past her and walk down the lengths of the aisles making up our library. 

Overhead chandeliers brighten the room here and I can just make out the titles of each book as I pass them. In some cases, though, the inscriptions have faded over time; the book remains unknown to the passerby lest some strain of curiosity urges him to open its covers. Some volumes are thick whereas others are rather thin; some are unbelievably tall and still others are much too short. The colors are as various as the shades found in a valley of wildflowers and the scent of the crinkled pages bound together smell of mildew to some extent. And yet my interest is still aroused. 

I pass one familiar volume and vaguely remember its publication. _Crypt of the Bishops_ read the Latin characters on its binding. An assignment given to me during the early third century in which I conducted extensive research on the burial chambers of the persecuted. Perhaps I should explain…

Part of a secret association called the Gatherer Society, I am a Seeker and so it is my rightful duty to 'seek the truth', so to speak, and observe the progress of humanity while I record from afar, for I can never interfere or meddle in their affairs. An ageless immortal, I've naturally become experienced with the task over time, but it's never suited me in the least bit. You could never imagine the strife I've seen since the dawn of beginning. 

Yes, you study war in your institutions I'm sure, but you've never been hip-deep in a mixture of muck and blood while your comrades were shot dead in a battle trench, horrific screams and canons deafening you. Yes, you're familiar with the peasant revolts of the French Revolution no doubt, but you've never been beaten unconscious by the authorities and you've never watched innocent children be trampled by the marching masses of the lower class. Persecutions…executions…you know the meanings of the words, but have you ever seen the pride of a man walking to the guillotine, or the fear of death lingering in the eyes of a man set to be crucified?

I have. I've seen the utter evilness of Man, the extremes by which one will go merely to see another human being tortured and pained. Rarely have I seen its opposite. Feeling as if coming here was a mistake, I begin to turn around and leave, but something beckons me forth and so I indulge the intuition. I catch sight of a book concerning the early Roman Empire; the eighth century…more mayhem. An eternity seems to pass as I near the end of this particular aisle but just before I would otherwise make physical contact with the opposing brick wall, I turn on my heels and face a selection of ancient-looking hardbacks seated upon a crooked shelf. 

One immediately calls out to me. Its exterior all in black, the binding is of a rich vinyl material, the covers a firm wood. I reach forward and pull the book towards me with my index finger, yet it barely shifts for it's of considerable weight and the books on either side of it are preventing its easy escape. I use four fingers this time and manage to wrench it out an inch or so when suddenly another explosion pounds onto the above city. This time, the Haven quakes violently and the book I've been trying to free falls forward and lands onto the floor near my feet with a resounding thud. 

I glare at the noise, though I know not from what direction it came, and reach down to collect the object I've traveled so far to obtain. Its weight is heftier than I remember and I momentarily suspect tampering, but the notion is ludicrous and I dismiss it while turning the book over in my hands. My heart sinks as I read the title. _Eternal Avenger_. Below the white calligraphic script is a mosaic tile embedded into the cover, its image of a radical cross upon a block of red. With a trembling hand, I turn the cover and am met with an opening narrative.

_A new day arises; a new time cometh when evil shall prevail no more. The chosen one has been birthed from his mother's womb and will hereafter honor his admirable quest with passion never seen by __Man.__ Let this be the day when souls shall cower away no more. Let this be the day when all things righteous give air to courage. Let this be the day when our victory shall commence. And so, it is with a jubilant spirit that I chronicle onto these leaves the life of this age's redeemer…the life of the Eternal Avenger._

_            ~River, First Seeker of the __Zion__ Sect of the Gatherer Society. 1367 A.D. __Ireland__. _

            I slam the book shut, hot tears forming in my eyes. The memories were too painful; I was an utter fool to have thought they would somehow enliven my dying passion. Calming myself, I open to the narrative once more and run my fingers over the scripted words, half-expecting them to diminish to dust upon contact with the outside world. Too long had they remained in hiding. Too long had they been forgotten. 

            I remember the elation I felt when I wrote those words those centuries ago, how I could barely keep my hand from shaking with excitement. The quill I had been writing with had twice blotted ink onto the page, that much was evident now that I took a second look, but my great happiness was oblivious to such flaws. Trying to take my mind off my past zealous behavior, I thumb through the pages and smell the dust that rises into the air from the process. It at once seduces and drugs me. 

            _Entertain me_, I hear the truth whisper into the caverns of my ears. I walk to the aisle's end, carrying the book with me, and comfortably seat myself against the firm structure, bringing the literary work I had composed long ago onto my lap. A moment of hesitation passes through me. _Entertain me_, the truth pleads yet again. 

            This time, I don't deny its request. I open the book and begin reading…

~*~*~*~*~

            __


	2. Gravedigger's Nightmare

DISCLAIMER: Oh for God's sake, I don't own the newsies! Let's make this easy, though. I only own Runner Conlon, Morning Dew, River, Malakai, Micah, Jeshua, Ahdi, and Father Romanik. ^_^ Newsies are owned by Disney; everyone else owns themselves. 

**_~*ETERNAL AVENGER*~_**

_Chapter One: Gravedigger's Nightmare_

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            _Lublin__, __Poland__; The late 1400's _

            _Here we are, born to be kings; we're the princes of the universe. Here we belong, fighting to survive in a world with the darkest powers…I am immortal; I have inside me blood of kings. I have no rival; no man can be my equal. Take me to the future of your world…_

When the doctor's grandfather clock struck midnight, it hadn't even fazed the boys gathered in his basement-level office, for Shad Ehrler's unremitting chatter had yet to cease and so the others were left to half-heartedly listen to reiterations of his latest victories among the female population. "And then there's Pasha," he said in between sips of mead from the decanter he held. "How long have I been with her now, a month? The dame still expects me to be as charming as I was way back when…but there's only one destination I'm hoping she'll take me to...and let me tell you, it aint no romantic dinner!" He let out a hearty laugh and downed the rest of his alcoholic beverage, giving the others time to digest the words. 

            "She'll be on her knees begging the day I decide to leave her." When he received not a single response from his comrades, he diverted his attention to the lone cigarette on the table by which he sat, musing over whether he should indulge in a smoke or not.

            Across from the room stood his twin brother, quiet and withdrawn, with hands joined behind his back as he beheld all the gadgets, books, and other appealing entities the doctor stashed in the room when the office's storage came to be much too chaotic. A porcelain music box painted in shades of rose and crème caught his studying eyes and he reached out to touch the object, an urge to take it for his own rising within him. Thievery was never an easy habit to renounce. 

            "Skam," he heard his brother call out, "don't even think about it. The minute the doc suspects one of us of backstabbing him, he'll send us all out on the streets again."

            Skam grinned at the elder in response, his yellow crooked teeth degrading the apology with a certain air of deceit. A moment passed, and the grin dropped while the boy continued rummaging through the piles of would-be treasures before him. In a corner just to his right sat a boy who never did quite say much in his lifetime, reclined onto an aristocratic chair, though its moth-eaten upholstery might lead one to question its worth. Picco's clothes were a number of sizes larger than they should have been, making his stature appear smaller than it actually was. His dark hair was currently plastered against his forehead after having endured a heavy rainstorm hours earlier, but nothing could replace his look of content as he nursed the baby bird nestled in his hands like a pitying mother taking in the outcast for tending. 

            "Shhh, shhh," he whispered to the feeble creature that slept in between his palms. "Everything's going to be all right. Don't you worry, okay?" Picco stroked the bird's feathers with a finger and smiled as he thought upon the day when the animal would be able to fly on its own with its brethren. He wasn't aware of Shad's snickering, or the fact that his friends thought him a pathetic excuse for a young man because of his proclivity to foster wounded creatures back to health, but it wouldn't matter for his mannerisms had been as so for much too long and it'd be quite a task to transform them merely to please society. 

            Seven minutes pass midnight, the knock sounded at the door. A decrepit old man who looked to be no more than a sack of brittle bones poked his head through the doorway, white hair a deranged mess, and peered down his spectacles at the boys gathered in the basement. He crinkled his nose once while summing up their potential for yet another dig and had obviously come to the conclusion that they'd have to do, seeing as he had no other volunteers willing to take on the damned sport, for he nodded at them and with a wave of his hand said, "it's time." 

            The seated boys rose from their chairs simultaneously, Skam turning around from the shelves that had held his curiosity for so long, and the trio followed the employer out the door into the hallway that would lead them street-bound. "Remember," the doctor went on in his raspy voice, "if you get caught, you say nothing, you hear me? Run if you can, but if the authorities are quicker than you supposed, betray me and I'll hunt you down until you rot! You hear me, boys?" They, of course, nodded in appliance with the rules and gathered the knapsacks he had prepared for them. 

"Excellent. Now, the wheelbarrow and shovels are already in the alley. Shad, the map to the burial site is in your bag." He led them to yet another door and before opening it, gave them a fierce look. "Remember boys…one word about who sent you out…" He finished the statement by bringing a finger across his throat and then shoved them out into the streets, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Well now," responded Shad after a short while, "that was mighty interesting, wouldn't you say?"

The tread to Lublin Cemetery was not as laborious as it was tiring. The boys traversed cobblestone streets when they could, but the squeaking of their wheelbarrow and its resounding racket scared them away to search out softer grounds; in particular, the woodlands that had yet to be broken down for civilization. It was usually Skam who pushed the cart of digging tools, for Shad was consumed with drinking some ale he had pilfered from a drunken man asleep on the walks while Picco was more concerned with making sure the winged friend in his hands was having a comfortable sleep. 

"Ah, look fellahs. A full moon." With a burst of energy, Shad pranced about the forest lands before him like a mischievous sprite, his eyes narrowed angrily and his teeth flashing a smile that was anything but friendly. "Remember those tales aunty use to tell us, Skam? About werewolves and devil-spirits that came out at night under the veil of a full moon to haunt the living?" He ran behind a group of trees, poking his head in and out of their brush to give his companions a fright. "They preyed on the unsuspecting, she'd say." His voice fell silent when those words escaped him. 

Skam and Picco shared worried looks and hurried towards the area they had last seen the boy. With frantic mindsets, they tore through the leaves about them in search of their friend, praying the incident was all in jest. "BOO!" The loud exclamation made them leap off the ground and tumble over themselves like careless children skidding down a hill. Shad roared in laughter as he came out from his hiding spot. "Oh, god! That was great!" He staggered towards them, the alcohol he was so fond of taking its effects on his coordination. "The look on your faces! Ha!" He slapped a knee and choked on his laughter. 

Skam rolled his eyes at the idiocy of his brother and climbed to his feet, dusting the dirt off his clothes and once again took possession of the wheelbarrow. Picco, on the other hand, remained kneeling in the dirt, letting his fingers cradle the shivering body of the baby bird. "Are you all right, little one?" He softly patted its head and cursed Shad under his breath for nearly causing him to harm the animal during his fall. 

"C'mon, fellahs. We're almost there!" Singing with tone-deaf perfection, Shad marched off, every now and then stumbling, as the cemetery where the boys' charges awaited them came clearer into view. "Did I tell ya that story I once heard? About the flood that washed over a graveyard? Apparently, some flood did just that…hundreds of people were found dead!" He snickered at his own joke.

"Would you shut up?" Skam hissed at him, fully annoyed by the elder's inability to take matters seriously. "Perhaps you should be looking over the map, doing something constructive?"

Shad groaned at the proposal. "No fun you are, ay?" But seeing the reason behind the suggestion, he did as asked and foraged through his knapsack for the item in question. Much to his convenience, the lunatic of a doctor he worked for had placed the map atop the bundles within. He retrieved it and unfolded its worn paper, spreading it out to its full dimensions with pursed lips. "Hmm…looks like the doc wants us to dig up a…a Mr. Alberto Kielche…Lot #29…only a few yards from here."

Picco sniffled, his damp tresses of hair making him feel a bit ill. With the long sleeve of his tunic, he wiped at his nose and frowned in thought of the labor that lay ahead. He hated his work. Not only was it unusual and arduous…it was also…dark. A body thief, that's what he was. When citizens slept in the comforts of their homes within the shrouds of their naivety, he scurried through graveyards and excavated the dead. Living in times when the superstitions of the Church condemned men of such professions, his duties could very well bring about his own death. But it was all for the good of man's advance in science; doctors city-wide desired to study the functions and inner anatomy of the body, but this was only possible when corpses were in good stock. Advances in science, indeed…and in salary as well. 

It didn't take the three companions long until they came unto the grave they were to disturb. Shad kicked at the dirt scattered in front of the concrete tombstone and the grains easily rustled this way and that. "Fresh dirt," he smiled. "All for the better." He placed his decanter of ale on the ground with the utmost delicacy and then seized a shovel from the wheelbarrow. "Well now, fellahs. Let's get to working, ay?"

It was three hours, Shad's pauses to drink and to share one of his many jokes counted, before the metal ends of their shovels hit across the hard surface of a coffin. They laid down their tools, sweat soaking their bodies, and took a moment to rest. If anything, the short break was not for their muscles' sake, but rather to rid their senses of the reeking stench of manure that screamed in their minds. Shad took a sip of his alcohol before screwing the container's cork back on and placing it onto the grass aside him. "All right, now. I'm assuming you're all voting me to do the honors?"

Without waiting for their answers, he yet again resulted to the contents of the wheelbarrow to fetch a tough rope which he tied around his midsection loosely. The other end he tied to a tree's bough, testing the stability with a forceful pull before nodding in approval and heading towards the burial site. "Well, here goes nothing!" He grabbed hold of the rope and carefully lowered himself into the grave, and when his feet finally rested onto the solid exterior of the coffin, he called out to the others for a hammer. Then, armed with the tool, he knocked away on the coffin's lock, knowing it'd easily fall to shards due to its lack of rust. 

Back on land, Picco and Skam waited in silence, keeping guard should some member of authority come their way with intentions to enforce his power. Naturally, Picco was too busy ensuring the health of the bird in his hands and so Skam was left to be the mature one, as often was the case. He shoved his hands down the pockets of his trousers and yawned lazily. Dawn would be breaking in only a matter of hours and with it would come the drudgeries of his chimney-sweeping day job. He wiped the exhaustion from his tired eyes. Sometimes, he really abhorred being a peasant. 

That's when he heard the light rustling of leaves behind him. He shot Picco a look to see whether the boy had heard the sound as well, but his expression was the same as before and Skam was led to believe he had imagined the noise. Shrugging it off, he turned back to the grave and looked down its depths where his brother was busily pursuing his task of cracking open the casket.  The sound returned a minute later. This time, Skam knew he had heard it for sure. He turned towards its source and squinted his eyes, searching. 

"Picco…" He tapped the boy's shoulder. "Didn't you…didn't you catch that?" 

Picco looked at him questioningly, and then smiled. "I think you've been listening to one too many ghost stories, Skam." 

"No, I'm serious." He took a step closer to the shrubbery behind them, his heart beating rapidly within his breast like a caged beast fighting to break free. Something was out there; his instincts never deceived him. The fear boiled through him, nearly making him motionless. "Look!" He pointed to a movement in the bushes with a trembling hand. Picco watched on with perked interest…up until a grey rabbit hopped into sight, only to speed away making the same noises Skam had been frightened over. Picco downright laughed; the other boy wished he could share in the mirth as well, but he had been rather shaken by the mishap.

"At least I can count on your sanity _most of the time," said Picco once boredom had settled into routine. "But I must say, that was even better than Shad's little scare. Wait 'til I tell the boys back home of our encounter with the man-eating bunny!" His laugh was a childish one, but offered a spirited tune the environment very much needed. _

"I hardly think a bunny is as terrifying as one may imagine."

The pair of boys spun around when the words had reached their ears. Their eyes darted across the scenery before them, but couldn't detect the owner of the voice…and worse off, his whereabouts. Standing back to back, they each snatched a shovel from the wheelbarrow-Picco gently placing his pet into a coat pocket-and stood in a guarded stance, ready to fight off any offenses. Shad, completely oblivious to the trouble, continued hammering away on the coffin underground. 

"Aww, now what kind of way is that to greet someone?" a second voice inquired with feigned hurt. 

"Show yourself!" called out Skam, conveying confidence when there was none to be found within him. 

The second voice snickered. "Oh? Was that a demand? And who are you, to be demanding immortals about?"

Picco blinked. "Immor…?"

"I tire of this game. What fun is invisibility if you don't get to laugh when they shriek in realization?" A cool breeze swept through the area like the snapping tail of a whirlwind and suddenly, two young men stood side by side onto the dirt that had just been vacant seconds earlier. "Ah, now this indeed is far more appealing." The one who spoke was slender in build, somewhat tall but a bit deficient as far as physique went. However, what he lacked in physical dominance, he made up for in a striking aura that warned one beforehand he wasn't one to be reckoned with. His hair fell in sandy-blonde locks brushed neatly out of his face to a length past his ears and his thin, pale lips were drawn into a proud smirk, as if he were enjoying a joke none other had heard. His eyes were his most prominent feature; depthless orbs of sapphire blue that could enchant one with their spell-binding gaze. Right now, they rested onto Skam's quaking figure. 

"Mmm, I don't usually bother for lower-class blood, but your smell drugs me…" He licked his lips and then jerked his head to the side in a sharp movement to crack the stiff bones that resided within. The pop of the vertebrae sent a chill down Skam's spine and his grip on the shovel loosened as he felt the need to expel his stomach's contents. 

"W-who are you?" the boy managed to ask.

The second mysterious stranger laughed at the inquiry. "Who are we? Don't you know? Haven't you paid any attention to your brother's ghastly tales?" When he was met with their blank stares, he only felt the want to laugh some more. He combed stray strands of honey-shaded hair out his eyes, revealing a pair of grey irises that seemed like pieces of stardust stolen from the heavens. His face was of firm structure, a strong jaw line that ended in a round chin and a sharp nose that strangely enough didn't demand to be the center of attention. He was taller than his comrade, and more built, the evidence of which was seen in the way he stood, tall and proud…like a warrior receiving a hard-earned token of appreciation. 

Pressing out the wrinkles in the black tunic he sported, he flashed them a nefarious grin; two abnormally long canine teeth peaked out from under his upper lip and the two boys huddled together back to back gasped in astonishment. "The name's Sullivan," he said. "But I go by Jack Kelly these days. The name's far more catchier, wouldn't you agree?"

Skam found the strength to lift his shovel an inch or so in hopes of appearing daunting to some extent. "Y-you're soul is damned!" he stammered out. 

"Well aren't you a clever one," the shorter of the two strangers drawled in a cool voice that, though soft, was carried through the air in an echoing utterance. His cyan eyes darkened to show he wasn't in the mood for playing and his lips pursed, as if he were blatantly challenging them to defy his power. But just as quickly as the maelstrom had settled onto him, it dispersed, like morning dew evaporating at the sight of the sun's first rays. His attention fell onto the open grave less than ten feet away, a smell teasing the senses that overpowered him in mere seconds. "The third one…"

Jack Kelly followed his comrade's gaze to the burial site presently undergoing an excavation and immediately understood the shift in mindsets. He faced the boys. "And this would be the masterful Spot Conlon. Pay no heed to his temper. After all, we haven't fed in hours…" Then smiling at Skam, "…and your brother's blood has caught his hunger."

"Stay back, you demons!" In an abrupt fit of rage, the younger sibling bolted forward and swung his shovel at the vampires, but the one called Spot reached out and grabbed the weapon at its midsection-barely executing any effort-and snatched it from the boy's possession, throwing it to the ground as if its existence insulted his worth. Then, still with the same monotonous expression, he clamped his hand around Skam's throat and let out a snarl, bearing his own wolf-like fangs. "You'd do well to know your place, mortal."

"Find your next fledgling?" Jack crossed his arms over his chest, trying so desperately to keep the sport lighthearted. Then again, sucking blood from the human species perhaps wasn't so minor a matter as he would have wished. He laughed at the idea and watched Spot teach the boy a lesson until he saw a pair of eyes peek out from the grave. "Ah, Conlon. Your precious quarry seems to have discovered our presence. Shall I?" 

Spot instantly shoved Skam away and smirked. "No, allow me." His hair now fallen in his face, he stalked towards the grave with malicious intents. From afar, he could already see the young gravedigger trembling like a babe frightened by winter storms and the sight of such pumped up his adrenaline like distant drums signaling the coming of war. "Hallo, child," he called out to Shad just before jumping into the open grave. All that was heard afterwards were the chilling screams of a soul fighting for life. 

Picco's mouth remained ajar as he continued to listen. He couldn't believe this was happening; it wasn't supposed to have occurred like this. Vampires weren't even supposed to exist! Feeling nauseous, he dropped to one knee and wrapped his arms around his stomach while the world spun at haphazard speeds around him. Meanwhile, Skam cried out to his brother and twice attempted to rescue the elder from the assault, but the efforts were in vain for Jack Kelly proved to be of a more swifter species and the boy knew he could scarcely be considered competition. 

"This is sacrilege!" Skam tried, knowing not what would come from his declarations. He knew his voice was wavering as well after Spot's cruel treatment, but the pain in his throat wouldn't subside and he wasn't about to wait around before it did. "You stand on holy ground, you can't…this is wrong! The church may have y-your head for this, you blasted demon!" 

"Truly impressive, boy. But do I honestly appear to give a damn?" He leaned forward on his toes and then launched forward to tackle his victim down onto the foul dirt, but of a sudden, there tore through the lands a force so graceful in its celerity that it intercepted the attack just when all aspirations for life had almost been lost and landed Jack against a slab of stone with a brutal crack. Skam had to blink twice before registering the event, for the one to which he owed appreciation had blazed by at electrifying speeds, almost like a beacon of light piercing the dark canvas of night. 

The confusion presented him with the perfect opportunity to run off and never look back, but his brother was yet at Spot's mercy and he was never one to abandon those he loved. He reached for the shovel the vampire had cast aside but stopped short when a peculiar happening caught his eye. Jack was dueling with another young man, one of superior strength who held his ground with admirable grace. Appearing to be in his early twenties, a strain of mortality was evident in his features…but there was something more about him, something that made him equal with his foes. Skam was unable to pinpoint the intricacies of such, for even when his mind had nearly grasped the concept, a pathetic shriek filled the air. 

His eyes darted to the grave his brother had been occupying and soon enough, Spot came crawling out in one great bound, his chin drenched in the hot, sticky paste of Shad's mortal elixir. The vampire raked his fingers through the soil about him and took in the whole experience; it was ecstasy. But Skam noticed the euphoria shatter when Spot's eyes fell onto the one with whom Jack was fighting. The boy wondered why this was, and so he too began observing the feud. 

The new stranger was of a height just shorter than Spot's and bore a striking resemblance to the vampire, as if they were kin. His rough-textured hair fell to his ears in golden locks, his facial features chiseled with a certain Elven sharpness. As Spot, that which caught one's attention most were the young man's eyes, his a dazzling shade of emerald green that gleamed in the moonlight like caravan treasures. At the moment, his clash with Jack consisted only of punches, but it quickly evolved into fencing, the sweet clang of metal ringing between them. 

Having brought Jack at bay, the stranger dashed off towards Picco and Skam, seizing them both by the front of their tunics and slamming them against the branches of a sapling. "Tell of this happening to anyone," he said sternly, "and I will slit your throats like a butcher carves a pig. Is that understood?" The boys could do nothing more than nod, yet when the young man had released them only to see Skam linger about in uncertainty, he groaned in annoyance and pushed him off on his way. "Your brother's dead, boy. Go, before death finds you as well." The pair didn't need a second urging; they fled the place as if on cue. 

"You've lost your touch with the innocent." It was Spot who made the statement, his lips drawn in a belittling smirk.

Jack begged to differ. "You jabbing me, Conlon? The kid's heroism is unmistakable." Rising to his feet, he combed fallen strands of his hair back and placed a beret atop his head, adjusting it until it suited him. Then he sheathed his sword and frowned. "It disgusts me. Undoubtedly an effect of his halfblood pedigree I'd venture to say."

Spot nodded in agreement. "Tell me about it. Mongrels like him are a disgrace to our kind." He wiped away the scarlet evidence of murder from his chin and licked his lips to absorb the last droplets of blood that remained. "So, Runner…long time no see, hmm?"

Runner cocked his head to one side, never once loosening the grip on his sword's handle. "This is my territory," he said through clenched teeth. "You've no right to maraud about these lands like rotten miscr-"

"Ha! I pose him a simple question and he finds the need to lecture me on petty matters!"

Runner glared at him. "The boy was right. This indeed was sacrilege, and I won't hesitate to report the violation to the elders. They'd be more than happy to rid the world of another beast like you." The power by which he uttered each word reverberated in the aura that conjoined the three immortals. He was sincere in his proclamations and wouldn't falter to see them become a reality. 

"Oh, spare us the melodrama," Jack sighed with a roll of his eyes. He cracked his knuckles and turned away from the challenge, knowing full well a better time would come. He had been strutting away only a yard or two when a void opened up before him and consumed his form; the outlines of his frame shimmered once and then disappeared. 

Spot never took his eyes off the younger immortal. "Runner, your strength could've been used for greater purposes. Why do you insist on shedding tears for the unworthy mortal? Why, when together we can continue the legacy of our namesake?"

"Because I've no place with Evil anymore," the other answered him in simple dictation. 

"Do as you please, cousin, but know this. The next time you stand in my way, only one of us will remain. I hope you understand that one will be me." With one last stone-cold stare, he left his final impressions and then allowed his form to undulate until it disintegrated into nothingness. 

Runner was left behind to contemplate the events of the night, and to bury death's newest casualty. 

~*~*~*~*~

            Gypsy sat upon a ceiling beam of the sanctuary's vaulted interior, watching over the fellowship below her like an angel guarding its brood. She tossed her dagger up and down, never once offering a glance towards the weapon to ensure the safety of her physical attributes, not caring that one miscalculation could end her with a nasty laceration across her palm. The dagger's form somersaulted into the air in three revolutions and then came crashing down to plunge into the flesh of an unworthy victim, but the girl snatched its gem-embedded handle indifferently before any harm could be done and continued the process yet again. 

            Her dark eyes were as apathetic as her expression while she watched her comrades and individually analyzed each one with a fierce judgmental attitude. It wasn't that she was known for her condemnatory or hypercritical tendencies, but she wasn't one to deny honesty if she thought one needed a lesson or two. Sheathing her dagger for the time being, she began observing.

            Runner Conlon was first. Gypsy cocked her head to one side like a curious child and watched her leader as he stood before an altar with head bowed in respect and in meditation. Though often she disagreed with his anti-aggressive method of pursuing equality in the immortal society for halfbloods, she more often than not respected him. He was wise and had the benefit of having seen both extremes of vampiric descent. She shrugged and switched her attention to the others. 

            Bumlets and Itey, both of Latin lineage, were busying themselves in teaching Shot and Rebel the fine art of some Spanish dance that involved precise movements and rhythm. The Latin boys were distant cousins who had been raised to become one with the rich culture, and they embraced it wholeheartedly when given the chance. Having each other helped in preserving the traditions as well, for together, the passed-down stories and family secrets adhered as closely as possible to the truth so long as memory was persistent. And vampires, even halfbloods, usually possessed good memory. 

            Bumlets was the elder and, in most people's opinion, the more handsome of the two. Whereas Itey's hair was a mass of curly locks flaunting off their childlike qualities, Bumlets had beautiful raven-black hair of a respectable volume and texture. He was also more built than his relative, and had a strong round face that suggested he had come from high social rankings. Though Itey was not lacking in attractiveness, he had still to mature in appearance. He was tall and skinny, but that friendly smile of his which usually showed off a good number of teeth was enough to make up for his shortcomings. 

            In any case, their attempts to enlighten the girls before them were proving to be a failing effort, especially when Mayfly, decked out in a traditional Flamenco dress of red and black shades retired from her duties and instead began prancing about the sanctuary yelling dance steps with simulated impatience. "One…two…three, four, five! One…two…three, four, five!"  

            Gypsy rolled her eyes and muttered curses under her breath in her native tongue. It was no wonder the purebloods never took them seriously. With foolhardy jesters like the ones below with whom she was forced to accept making up their company, she was surprised the other vampires in the city hadn't done away with them yet. The thought of her dagger projected into her mind and she was momentarily filled with the idea of undertaking the bloody task herself. 

_Ah, but Runner would surely have my heart for such betrayal… If there was anything their leader had taught them, it was unity. One strain of negativity in a body of followers could bring ruin at the first sign of crisis. And so, although Gypsy would have rather not been involved with particular individuals from her kin, she'd find the strength to deal. In one way or another. _

She dismissed the chaos of the five companions and let her gaze settle onto a lone figure seated onto a pew yards away from their vociferous racket. Hades. _Now there's an enigma_, Gypsy thought with a smirk. She had always liked the girl, perhaps because they so closely resembled each other not only in appearance, but in character as well. Both drew their comments from a witty sarcasm that tested the patience of their peers and both walked about with an air of mysteriousness that daunted one with its violent traits. Just as well, they leaned more towards solitude when it came to companionship. No doubt they would cooperate when asked, but independence beckoned them like a deity pleading for believers, and they took to it with open arms. 

Having reached the end of her analyses, Gypsy frowned in confusion. Weren't there supposed to be…? Her lips formed a straight line as she remembered. _How could I forget? It's the damned reason we're all waiting here, wasting time that could be better spent elsewhere. _Dear, precious Kitten had yet to grace those already gathered with her presence. Gypsy scowled and wondered upon how the girl had ever been considered for so distinguished a position as was the ranks of the Committee. _Blasted whore, the halfblood sneered. __I haven't a clue what Runner ever saw in her…_

As if directly seeking to answer the query, the doors to the sanctuary were swung open as a young woman garbed in cloak and dress strutted through the entranceway and made her way down the center aisle to where the rest of her company sat. She held her head high, proud of who and what she was, and swung her curvaceous figure like the harlots of the night, her lips upturned into a flirtatious smirk. She walked with urbane smoothness, almost in a way that seemed no more than a graceful glide across the floor, and one could right away tell with little contemplation that she would excel in cunning manipulation when her looks came into play. 

Gypsy jumped down from her perch, landing onto the polished grounds with ease, and stood in the girl's path with a patronizing glower. The two couldn't have been any more different from each other. Gypsy was half a foot taller; pale-skinned and lanky, but ferocious at heart when the time called for it, perfectly contrasting Kitten's short stature, tanned complexion, and playful demeanor. Perhaps the only thing they held in common was the length and color of their hair, dark wavy tresses that fell almost to waist length and framed their faces like veils of mourning. 

"Pray tell, Kit," the taller said, blue eyes blazing with sheer derision. "What drunkard was under your skirts this time around?"

Kitten never once let her smirk drop. "You offer men one thing and they start serving you like lapdogs. Why shouldn't I take advantage of that fact?" She pulled back the hood of her cloak and tried to sidestep Gypsy, but the other wouldn't allow it. "What's the matter, Gip? You wouldn't be jealous, would you?" 

"Jealous of a whore! Ha! Believe me, child, I wouldn't dare debase myself to such levels."

"At night I go gallivanting with aristocrats and drink the blood of the rich. I'm offered money, power, lust. What would you have me do? Suck the blood of the guttersnipes as you do? Subject myself to the filth of the lower classes with your disgusting willingness?"

In a bout of anger, Gypsy made a move to slap the girl but her hand was caught in midair from behind and she spun around in both surprise and annoyance to see Runner glaring at her, his fingers tightening around her wrist. "This incessant bickering will get us nowhere," he snapped at her. And then looking to Kitten, "you both acting like unreliable children is only working to delay us. We're months away from the decadal Conference and haven't even begun to _think_ about the matters we want to present to Aerenthal."

"And whose fault is that?" Gypsy retorted, snatching her hand from his grasp. She hadn't meant to verbally lash out at him as so, but the moment had passed and she was too proud for apologies. 

"Oh, are we finally getting started?" From the pulpit she had just been occupying, delivering a mock sermon to invoke laughter from her friends, Mayfly grabbed the ends of her Flamenco dress and hurried towards her leader, her Spanish heels clopping onto the tiles like horseshoes. "I've got a number of things I'd like to tell Aerenthal. For one thing, what's the deal with the purebloods thinking they can invade our territory whenever it suits them? Last week I had a run-in with Snitch and Combat; luckily, they were in good moods and didn't clobber me as painfully as they usually do."

Runner turned to look at her and furrowed his forehead while he beheld her appearance. Mayfly never ceased to amaze him. Apparently, in efforts to coordinate in entirety with the Spanish outfit she donned, she had gone to the extremes of even adding red highlights to her usually dark hair. He couldn't tell what formulas had successfully left the crimson bands, but he assumed she had been dealt herbs and dyes from one of her Healer friends. Shaking his head, he replied to her concern.

"They aren't the only ones either. Spot and Jack were at Lublin Cemetery not too long ago. I've a feeling it wasn't a coincidence. They're plotting something; their auras reek of it." By then, the other four in the little fellowship had joined the circle and now all stood and waited for their leader to reach a conclusion. "Well, we know one thing for sure. They're either wanting us to ally with them to exterminate the mortals, or they want us dead as well. And it's usually the latter notion. 

"I say we fight back," offered Shot, her arms crossed as she was clearly upset. She despised the very word 'pureblood', a blemish she believed only contaminated languages across the globe. On top of that, purebloods tended to support the fallacy that their hybrid counterparts only damaged their racial purity and diluted the superior vampiric qualities that had evolved over the centuries. 

The girl snorted; it wasn't as if she had asked to be what she was. Halfbloods were vampiric by descent, lineage, and ancestry. Tracing back their pedigree would lead them unto forefathers who were of demonic roots. Forgings of the underworld fused with the race of mankind. Purebloods on the other hand could either be spawns of such heredity as well (in essence, _born vampires) or could happen onto the heredity (changed _into_ a vampire sometime in their prior mortal life). _

"A war is the last thing we need," Runner said. His voice was soft, almost reminiscent. He remembered those days laden with bloodbaths and genocide; they still ruled the realms of his nightmares. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to rid himself of the memories, but he knew they'd never fade away. 

Gypsy groaned in exasperation. If there's anything she loathed, it was waiting. Waiting for a no-show, waiting for a decision, simply waiting for something to happen! She couldn't take lurking in the shadows any longer. It was about time the halfbloods did something about their situation. "Do as you please, the lot of you, but the day of the Conference I intend to give Aerenthal a very heated outcry against the other immortals. We're the laughing stock of the whole damned confederacy! They treat us like worthless urchins, like peasants even!"

"I have yet to be treated as such," Kitten argued. "Perhaps you give them reason to shame you."  

"As you give them reason to embrace adultery?"

Runner came in between the two, clearly irritated by their nonsense. "I'm much too close to aiming a crossbow's arrow at both your hearts." He uttered the words with no regret, the gleam in his emerald eyes showing them it had not been in jest. "When October's full moon brightens the skies, I expect to see each of you at the Conference. Let word get out to all halfbloods in our district, and don't even bother showing your faces if you haven't a worthy argument to present before the council." Saying no more, he turned in an elegant movement and then started off to leave them.

"Where are you going?" Rebel called out to him, asking the question no one dared pose. 

"I tire of your immaturity," he answered, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he addressed them all. "I pray that in the forthcoming months, you all will see the graveness of the matter that lies in our hands. If not, we've already failed."

~*~*~*~*~

            "Long live the kind Lord Combat!"

            At the sound of the words, the musicians in the gallery began playing a fanfare while an army of servants rushed into the dining courts to serve a delectable array of salted meats and aphrodisiacs. Darrien 'Combat' Bailey sat with the more notable individuals of his manor at a table situated atop a foot-high platform to show he was above mediocrity, watching with pale eyes the events that unfolded before him. His young cupbearers hurried to and fro about the area, jumping whenever someone signaled they were thirsty, and a harpist was presently giving the atmosphere a soothing melodic vibrancy.  The nobles appeared to be impressed with the fine cooking of the meals and the entertainment by the minstrels and jesters, though it seemed prepared for children, was overall fairly good.

            Combat waited as his trench was laid before him, the aroma of pork dazing him, and then reached forward to retrieve a knife and spoon from the boat-shaped nef at the table's center. Though he didn't fancy his plates being made of stale bread, it saved on his expenses and meant he could pocket that much more money when the tax collector came meandering his way for the king. He cut off a piece of the pork and brought it to his nose for a quick sniff. _How can the mortals consume this grime?_ But as to not draw suspicion, he stuck the food in his mouth, chewed with much difficulty, and swallowed.

            At least he had the better part of the village wrapped around his finger. Tomorrow, he'd go hunting alongside some members of the nobility with merlin hawks and bloodhounds and would hope the winged lures he had had especially made for the sport could finally be used for some recapturing. And then the day after, he was set to meet a blossoming young woman with whom he was considering marriage. She was still in her mid teens, but he'd do plenty to make her grow up ahead of her time. A wicked laugh sounded in his mind at the mere thought of it. 

            He was in the middle of placing another chunk of meat into his mouth when one of his esquires shuffled to the table's front and whispered in an urgent plead that the butcher was having a problem. Combat rolled his eyes at the complaint, but excused himself from the table nonetheless after dabbing at his mouth with a cloth, and followed the boy out the courts, through the richly-decorated halls of the manor, and into the somewhat small kitchen which currently smelled of spices and stew. But the esquire didn't stop; rather, he continued walking until he stood at the open doorway of a back entrance.

            Combat passed through the entrance and then grinned at the sight before him. The burly man who had been hired as the butcher stood outside in the lands reserved for the nobles' livestock, holding a young man tightly around the arm with one hand and a machete with the other. "You steal from our lord, you die! Dirty vermin! You no think we find out? We see everything." He spit in the boy's face and shoved him to the ground.

            "Now, now, Master Cauchon," Combat said, laying a gentle hand onto the butcher's shoulder. "Allow me to handle this, hmm?" The hefty man rambled off in some primitive language as he pushed his way back into the kitchen, swearing he'd have the head of the next person who stole from him. Combat laughed at the ordeal and then faced his fallen subject with a sarcastic look. "I truly am touched, Slick. This is what, the third time this week you've managed to get caught in the middle of pilfering? Dear boy, do you know what it means to be inconspicuous? Perhaps you should try the art sometime."

            Slick slowly climbed to his feet, never taking his eyes off the man before him. Ever since he was a young child, he had never trusted Lord Combat. The noble was a sadistic repertoire of cruel jokes and actions that most the time ended in fatality. "I'll try whatever means there are to feed my family."

            "Oh how very heroic," the elder replied in mockery. "I feel a string of tears coming…"

            "You should! Day in and day out we slave away for your confounded manor. We tread the grapes, oversee the harvest, raise the animals that you slaughter for your own fine meals. And what do we get in return? Huts with thatched roofs and straw-covered floors! Dark bread, cheese, and ale for breakfast and a water-based stew for dinner! My five little brothers and sisters have to huddle around a hearth at night just to get one bit of warmth while they sleep! And when the harvest isn't enough, what would you have us do? Starve?"

            Combat sighed at the dramatization and wondered why he was even allowing the boy to speak to him in such a defying manner. He let his eyes study Slick's coarse tunic, leggings, and muddied feet and crinkled his nose in repulsion. He absolutely abhorred the lower classes; they were always so filthy and flea-infested. "You're right," he said at last. "I shouldn't have you living here in this blasted hellhole…" He stroked his chin in thought.

            "Y-you shouldn't?" Slick brushed his dirt-colored hair out his face and stared at the lord in confusion. Had the noble just agreed with him? No, that was impossible. And yet…obviously it wasn't. He squinted his eyes in skepticism and took a step forward, unsure of whether he had heard correctly. "What…what do you mean?"

            "I mean, dear boy, that I must've been mad to make you a slave of nobles! You deserve more than that!" Grinning excitedly, Combat turned around, poked his head through the kitchen's back doorway, and called out for two of his most trusted knights. The men came out seconds later at his service, standing at attention for their lord's orders. "Would you two be so kind as to escort Master Slick out the village to…I don't know, some god-forsaken city far from here where I won't be haunted by his face. Sell him off as a slave, but demote him to a lower ranking than the one he currently holds. Oh, and refuse him the permission to bid farewell to his family."

            Slick looked horrified. "You can't do this!" he yelled out at the man, backing away for a chance at escape, but the knights seized each of his arms and began dragging him away to fulfill their charge. "NO! Let me go, let me go! You can't do this to me! You haven't the right to do this!" He struggled to the best of his ability but his fighting proved to be in vain. It was useless. Hot tears stung his eyes and he screamed out for the aid of his fellow villagers, thrashing wildly until one of the knights stumbled from the resistance, leaving the other to deal with Slick alone. 

            "Calm yourself, Slick," the boy heard Combat say from behind. He spun around in the knight's hold and froze at those sinister serpent eyes his lord possessed. Combat patted the boy's cheek and, cocking his head to one side, let his lips curve into a lopsided smirk. "Allow me to let you in on a little secret. If you thought I was a monster before, you haven't seen anything yet…" He bared his fangs in one quick motion fast enough to escape the knight's attention and then stepped back with a hearty laugh. 

            "Holy mother of God!" Slick had given up his battle upon beholding the revelation. His eyes were wide and unbelieving, his mouth trying to find a reply. "You're a…y-you're a blasted vamp-" But before he could finish the statement, a stone fist pounded into his face and knocked him out, delivering him into darkness. 

~*~*~*~*~

**Until next time…**

**@-}---**

WoW! That was a long chapter! At least it seemed as so to me! *Rubs the exhaustion from her eyes* Man oh man, I think that's the longest chapter I've ever written! Anyways, THANKS for all the reviews! I think I'll do shout-outs every five chapters or something, so for now, just a quick thanks to: **Seraph2, Bec, Lookout, Cure, Tooey, BabyXtreme, Dreamer110, CiCi, asp, Lyf, Onyx, Almighty Trixie, Falco Conlon, goldstranger, hades, Chipper, Ember, Raven, Cerridwen4, Sapphy, Sita-chan. **

You all rock my socks! And be sure to check out the _Eternal Avenger_ site! ^_^ __

            __


	3. A Bottle of Rum

DISCLAIMER: Oh for God's sake, I don't own the newsies! Let's make this easy, though. I only own Runner Conlon, Morning Dew, River, Malakai, Micah, Jeshua, Ahdi, and Father Romanik. ^_^ Newsies are owned by Disney; everyone else owns themselves. Oh, and the song lyrics featured in some chapters don't belong to me but rather are the property of various artists. 

**_~*ETERNAL AVENGER*~_**

_Chapter Two: A Bottle of Rum_

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  

            _Southern Europe__; The late 1400's _

            _I hear it fading; I can't speak it unless you will dig my grave. We fear them finding, always winding: Take my hand, now be alive. You see I cannot be forsaken, because I'm not the only one. We walk amongst you feeding, raping. Must we hide from everyone?_

            "So, what has caused you to travel the many miles from Poland merely to see me?" Gemma 'Onyx' DeFelice turned a page in the book she was perusing through and then glanced up at the young woman with whom she was traveling through the street centers of Italy, staring at her with eyes set under the dark lashes that served to give her a mysterious look. Her long usually tousled hair was done up in regal braids this morning, the raven-black locks donned with basil leaves, as if she were a Greek goddess. She was dressed in shades of crème and gold, her confining apparel typical of the aristocracy and those who didn't have to move as quickly as their impoverished underlings; although the high class barely even moved by foot when one mused over it long enough, and this was wonderfully exemplified by the fact that Onyx was allowing her man servants the 'honor' of carrying her through downtown on a majestic litter the size of a child's playhouse. 

            Kitten watched the commoners and peasants scurry about all around like hordes of locusts executing their mindless and seemingly insignificant tasks from behind the golden veils of the litter. She felt of the utmost prestige being carried to her destination while they had to labor for all aspects of life, and taking gratitude for the social ranks she had been dealt by fortune upon birth, she took her mind off the masses and met Onyx's cool gaze. "The decadal meeting approaches. Runner wanted us to spread the word to our fellow halfbloods, and even though you're of the purebred race, I thought you might like to assist us."

            "Oh?" The vampiress closed her book and let it rest on her lap for later amusement. Her lightly tanned olive complexion was without a flaw, its smoothness more perfected than the silk touch of a rose's petal. A light smear of rouge on her full lips and just the slightest hint of shadow on her eyelids, she could be quite the seductress, but she lacked desire to undertake the task. 

            "You see, the Conlon Dynasty is ever-expanding, spreading the malice of an anti-halfblood propaganda which will see the end of my kind. Though we intend to present an outcry to Aerenthal for assistance in this matter, it would do us well to have allies within the vampiric community as well. I know without a doubt that Spot is brainwashing his fledglings to despise the…"

            "I'm not one of his charges," the other replied swiftly. "I'm a scion of Darrien Bailey's lineage, though you probably know him more by the alias Lord Combat. In any case, Combat and Spot have long been in constant rivalry. I don't think you'll have too much trouble convincing our brood to join Runner in defying this dynasty you speak of." Her eyes became distant as her keen senses detected a strong presence, the aroma of one's aura trailing into the litter and drugging her. She tried to get in tune with its distinctness for it was only through this manner that she might recognize its bearer, but her mind was unable to place a name on the individual, and this very much distressed her. "Stop," she ordered her man servants in a gentle but demanding voice. They, in turn, discontinued their tread and awaited further direction. 

            "What's wrong?"

            Onyx didn't answer the half-blood immediately. Rather, from under the pillow onto which she leaned, she produced a small glass container marked with the runes of a primitive tongue. Unscrewing its lid with accurate delicacy, she opened the container and soon after a most distinguishable odor invaded the atmosphere, smelling of cilantro and hot spices. Kitten leaned closer to her companion and saw that the content of the mini jar was in fact a thick cream that teased her curiosity to a certain extreme, but before she could press any inquiry concerning the enigma, Onyx began dipping her fingertips into the cream and then smoothing the white paste across her face until it seeped through her pores and disappeared. She repeated this process until it suited her and then did away with the container after placing its lid back on. 

            "A facial mask," she at last responded, a half smile adorning her lips. Kitten understood then. Unlike their pureblood counterparts, the hybrid weren't susceptible to ultraviolet light. Though their lineage sprung from the same demonic ancestry, the misfortune never was a prominent trait in their genetic makeup. From their vampiric forbearers, halfbloods had only inherited immortality, telepathy, and other supernatural strengths of the like-not to mention an innate blood lust, though most of them abstained from the condemned habit. Kitten was an exception to that last claim, however, for she very much enjoyed downing the red wine that ran through mortal veins. Too long had she fellowshipped with the purebreds. 

            Onyx pulled back the curtains of the litter and stepped out onto the grounds below, blinking in the face of the sun as she willed her body to adjust to the transformation. The great ball of fire yet weakened her to some extent, but not to the fatal degree her kind so dreaded. "Ah, look," she said, pointing to a queue of young men and women lined up on a platform at the center of downtown. Each individual had their hands bound behind their backs, and a wooden slab hanging from a rope around their necks. "It's a slave trade that calls me forth. I've been looking for more servants, too. How convenient." She perambulated forward, then, fully expecting her companion to fall in step aside her. 

            And Kitten did, though her attention was more so glued onto the events carrying on around her. There were minstrels and poets on every alley corner screaming out the plots and limericks of their tales to the melancholia of the masses, the enactment of mystery plays trying to gain the interest of potential audiences as their actors performed skits with zealous passion, guild members screaming aloud the benefits of their company and the advantage it would do one to join…all of this adding to the already vociferous cacophony of the overpopulated city. Young water-carriers dodged this way and that like needle through thread as they raced to present their families with the requested drink and a variety of livestock tried to flee from the hands of the local butcher. Street centers were gutters into which were thrown rubbish, compose, and the carcasses of dead pets…sewage that would only serve to sicken those passing by. Kitten hated to travel among the mortals, the diseased beasts that they were.

            The slaves lined up for today's auction were few. On any good day, the overseer had at least thirty-five strong workers ready to be purchased and put to labor, but business was apparently losing its touch for there were only seventeen prospective hands available and all were under the age of twenty-two. With hands clasped behind her back, Onyx scanned the row up and down with scrupulous eyes. There was a female child who would make for a good docile food servant, but she appeared to be ill and was much too homely for the vampiress' liking. Teenage twin brothers found her inspection next, but they gave off a sense of mischievousness she was not patient enough to deal with. "Still…the one with the potent aura…" 

That's when she saw him. Pale and silent, but of a strong build, he was at the end of the line with head hung low and dark eyes brooding over his unfavorable fortune. She smiled in spite of herself and approached him in quick predetermined steps. When she was inches away, he finally drew himself up and stared her straight in the eye, unafraid of what she might do and uncaring of what her decision would be. His hair was naturally brown but was dirtied to a foul extreme with sand, dirt, and the hay of stables where he had probably been forced to sleep. Smudges of mud were streaked across his face and arms and his tunic was torn for the times when his rebellion had only been counterattacked with the scorn of his masters. She circled around him once, noting the welts on his back where leather whips had met skin and returned to face him. 

"You've a presence that has called me from my solid mental state, child. What is your name?"

He looked at her as one would stare at a fellow gone mad, and did not apologize for it either. What of this presence? What of this mental trance she had been in? He looked down at his bare feet, feeling the blisters on his heels, and parted his lips to speak but the dryness of his throat prohibited such communication. "I…my…" Only a hoarse sound had been produced and he entered a coughing fit at having even accomplished that. 

One of the brawny men in charge of the slave trade noticed the boy's attempt at a transaction of words with the woman and came charging down to the end of the line with rawhide thong in hand. He knew his laborers well, and if this hardheaded and stubborn boy was trying to persuade one into giving him freedom again, he wouldn't hesitate to place a few burning lashes on the youth's backside as he so many times had done. "Madam, such a notable lady as yourself would have no use for this trash. Come; let me show you the others we have to offer. There is a respectable boy in his twentieth year who would make an excellent manservant. Come…"

Kitten by this time had joined Onyx's side and was watching the occurrence unfold with apparent indifference up until the thoughts of her comrade intruded on her thoughts. _Use your whorish swindling to distract this sycophant, _the pureblood hissed. _I've business with this boy and only your bedroom games will allow me the time for small chat. Kitten groaned in annoyance at the order. She didn't care too much for the common class, but of a lower rank than the vampiress, she'd have to follow the demands. "Oh, good sir," she said to the man, placing a small hand on his upper arm in a suggestive manner. "Such hard work you put into this business…Ah, how I would faint at the mere idea of it all! You seem like a strong man who deserves rest…and a little fun, no?" She slowly turned him around and began to lead him away with her flirtatious, shallow words and cunning tricks. _

Onyx grinned at this and turned back to the boy. "So, I believe we weren't quite done. Your name?" Remembering then his difficulty with voicing his answer, she placed two fingers over his throat and after whispering something foreign to his ears, she posed the question again. 

The boy made the effort to speak again, and this time was surprised to find the ability at its fullest. "How…how did you do that?"

"Your name, please."

The simple request sent a chill down his back. So much explanation was due him and yet the only thing she desired at that moment was to know his name. But why? He took a step away from her and examined her features, trying to unmask any clues she might give off should her facade crumble away. No such luck. Finally, he renounced his obstinacy if only to receive the answers to his own questions and indulged her. "My name is…well, I'm known as Slick. I lived on a manor far from here but my villainous lord sent me away for thievery. It was hardly a crime, however, for he would have us starve if I hadn't the courage to filch from his lands every now and then! He was an egocentric, self-enamored brat, though." Memories were unleashed as he pondered upon his past, and he shuddered at the remembrance of the damned heritage the lord had revealed to him. "Lord Combat…may hell claim his soul…"

Onyx raised an eyebrow at this, smirking in recognition of her sire's name. "Oh, I'm sure Lord Combat had other reasons to rid himself of you…" She signaled to one of the overseers and when the man approached her, she placed in his hand the standard amount of gold coins which was the going-rate for young slaves. Satisfied with the paid fees, the man nodded at her and then set to cutting the binds on Slick's hands and the rope around his neck. Within seconds, the boy was freed from his restraints and received a shove from the overseer before the man gave him a look of warning and then returned to tend to the other customers. 

"Then you know him?" Slick asked, massaging the pain that yet resided on his wrists where scarlet marks throbbed from the pressure of his now gone rawhide ties. 

"Oh yes," she answered him. "You might say we're rather close." She started off then back toward her litter, already thinking of what task around the courts she'd give her new servant. He was much too filthy to enter into the abode just yet, but perhaps in time he'd develop the mannerisms and respect needed to reside within palace walls. 

The boy didn't make the slightest move to follow her, too great was his shock. "Wait, where are you taking me? I won't go back to that manor, you hear me? I won't go back!" He began backing away again, shaking with fear. His eyes were wide with the trepidation of a forest animal meetings its predator and he raised his voice against the woman. "I won't be his peasant again, ever! You can't take me back! I'll just run away again!" His outcries had attracted the attention of the overseer with the whip, and when the man fell witness to the forthcoming escape of one of his slaves, he dashed toward the boy ready to strike. 

Onyx was quicker. With light's speed she rushed to Slick in a graceful glide and outstretched an arm just in time to catch the sharp tail of the whip between her fingers. Enraged, she jerked the primeval weapon with an effortless hand movement and caused the overseer to tumble forward over his head. "Lay a hand on my servant," she said between clenched teeth, "and that hand will touch nothing again." With a frightening glower, she snatched Slick's arm and then dragged him through the crowds like a mother leading away her whining child. 

It wasn't until they were a reasonable distance away from the slave trade that she spun him around and addressed him. "Whether it is your pleasure or not, you belong to me now, child. You would do well to accept that fact and hold your tongue unless it's death you'd like to meet." Her grip on his arm tightened. She'd never understand why it was always the young she adopted into her brood, but it might've had something to do with their stout hearts and pride. Her facial expressions smoothened. "Most importantly, know your strengths. You could've long ago obtained your freedom. What was stopping you?"

His breath came out in short pants and he regarded her once again as if she had lost her sanity. What befuddled him now was her sheer magnificence and splendor. She reminded him of the clan of nobles who would flood into Lord Combat's halls for feasts and entertainment. Perhaps he had seen her before, perhaps not. Too distracted by her striking features, he shook his head and simply shrugged. 

"Bloody hell, what have I gotten myself into?" She continued pulling him away from the bustling crowds until she reached the cobblestone borders of an alley void of all but stray animals. For the briefest moment, her thoughts turned to Kitten and her present rendezvous with the overseer who had given them trouble, but she dismissed the problems of the young woman and pressed Slick up against the exterior of a brick edifice to speak with him. Bringing her fingers to his lips, she forced his mouth into a would-be smile and studied his teeth closely, pleased when she came across the telltale signs she had been searching for. "Confound it, dear boy," she said with a grin. "How long have you been in the dark? How long has this secret been kept from you? Didn't you know that you were a halfblood?"

Slick shook her hand off him and tried to break out of her hold, but she was much stronger than him and in the end, he remained still and kept his stance against the wall. "Of course I'm halfblooded. My mother was Polish and my father was French. What has that to do with anything?"

"Silly child," said she. "I speak not of the races _man has imposed upon himself. When I mention the word halfblood, that is to say that your heritage is a cross between that which is good, and that which is evil. In short, pure-hearted you may be but the blood of vampiric predecessors now flows through your veins."_

"W-what!" He struggled against her once more, but she was like a woman made of steal, clamping him down against the wall mercilessly. "You've gone mad! There…this is ludicrous! I am not…what do you want with me? This is…this is…an offense against…this is…" He was starting to develop the habit of not finishing his sentences. For the second time after having met someone of the immortal race, he passed out and fell into an abyss of confusion. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

            There were three classes of individuals in a society plagued with wars, diseases, and the greed of the aristocracy. Those who prayed, those who labored, and those who fought. At least that's how Gypsy saw it. Her cyan eyes took in everything they saw as she passed through the villages southeast of Vatican City, bringing up the caboose of a ragtag assembly featuring the likes of Runner, Bumlets, Mayfly, Itey, and Rebel-the last two of which were walking hand in hand. The young woman sneered at the display of affection conveyed by the couple and wished by all means that the sappy Romantics hadn't been chosen to undertake the mission that called for seriousness. But such was life, and perhaps this was what led her to her views on the drudgeries of a mortal's life. 

            On her trek through the city, one landmark she had passed that had contributed an ocean's worth to her deep-seated contemplation and philosophical analyses was a towering cathedral of profound measures, one that had made her feel like a mere ant confronting the Roman Empire. It had made her tumble down an endless chasm of paradoxical queries and battles with her inner self. The monasteries were the homes to pilgrims, crusaders, and the poor…where the flickering lights of candles and the smell of incense could make the most wavering faith strong again. The painted glass windows told the stories of courage and belief to the illiterate masses, and travelers journeyed miles simply to behold the tombs of saints should some healing power be bestowed upon them, or to pay their respects to the reliquaries. And then the holy books; the illuminated manuscripts with patterns drawn in colored inks made of copper, honey, and crushed insects…Gypsy sighed. 

            It seemed as if the mortals had more purpose in life than had she! As much as she would ridicule man, as much as she would deem him a fool for his numerous mistakes and crimes, as much as she would spit on his ideas of happiness and love…he yet had more purpose. He could still make a name for himself in the history books of the scribes; she couldn't do such a thing, however, for she wasn't even allowed to make evident her immortality. Acquaint herself with others and then watch them die as she never aged, that was the curse she was forced to bear. Her entire identity would have to be forsaken as she resumed her guard behind the veils of the shadow realm, where death ever lurked. Always would she have to hide. This having driven her to the point of madness, she had burst out in indignation against her leader. 

            "Why are we even going on this insanely ridiculous hunt for idiots?"

            Runner, from the front of the group, had turned around in one smooth motion to face her. It was evening, and his eyes had been sparkling like apple cider under the pinks and lavenders of the dusk skies. He was apparently tired, and Gypsy's perpetual complaints only added to the exhaustion. "You're the soothsayer, Gip. Why don't you tell me? Wasn't it the rumors that brought us here? Wasn't it your having seen the future that swayed our fate to this area?" He had crossed his arms lazily and as he stood there in his black trench coat, he projected warnings past her mental guards into her mind. _Watch yourself, Gip. I'm hardly in the mood to entertain your childishness. _And so the protests had ceased. 

            Currently, she was seated atop the upper edge of a tall cement wall, once again watching her brethren as they conversed with one another and waited for Runner to return from the tavern he had entered into in search of three pirates rumored to have found the acclaimed Fountain of Youth while on their recent overseas adventure. It was a happening she had foreseen in one of her dreams, and after relating the message to Runner, the leader of the halfbloods believed it was indeed something that needed to be researched. And so, here they were. 

            Her ever-watching eyes shifted to Itey and Rebel. Giggling as they whispered sweet nothings into one another's ears, they sat upon a stack of discarded crates and gazed upwards at the star-dotted heavens. So happy were they, even while in the midst of a forthcoming war that would shake the very foundations of the immortal community. So content, light-hearted, and laidback were their actions toward one another as they swooned over words and joined hands. Mayfly sat across from the couple on the freezing bricks of the alley, smoke encircling around her face as she took a long drag on a cigarette and then exhaled the poisonous fumes from her lips. After their last meeting, she had since changed her attire from the loud colors of her flamenco dress to simple slacks, a dirtied tunic, and a hat that wordlessly spoke of poverty-level status. For once, her comedic loudmouth tendencies were at a standstill as she tuned in to the world around her. Something was wrong. 

            Gypsy and Bumlets noticed the slight disturbance as well. The former leapt off the wall and landed on cat's feet upon the grounds of the corner her company occupied, crouched like a panther about to attack its prey. She gestured to the others to silence themselves and then furthered forward cautiously. There were shadows prowling in the distance where the city was void of light, hugging the darkness like tortured ghosts, nearing the small fellowship of halfbloods slowly but inexorably. They appeared to be the shades of persecuted beings, with their shoulders hunched over and their saliva-drenched incisors acting as stalactites of a portal to hell.  The flesh of their faces was mutilated, pieces of skins peeling off to reveal muscle and bone, and their eyes were simple black holes that stared off lifelessly. 

            Bumlets' face paled. He staggered back a few steps, unable to take his gaze off the monstrous intruders. They were vampires no doubt, but what foul witchery had subjected them to an afterlife of heathenistic proportions? "B-back away…" he ordered the others and they didn't need a second invitation to rush to their feet and gather themselves against the wall Gypsy had earlier sat upon. The beasts sneered and growled at the retreat and marched onward yet again. The motion of their limbs while doing so was unworldly as they accomplished body movements that defied the written rules of science and commonly accepted beliefs concerning humanity. Bumlets fumbled in his pocket for the cross he had purchased last year from a pawn shop and held its wooden structure out before the beasts. "In the n-name of God, in the name of J-Je…"

            The beast closest to him lunged forward and pinned him down to the ground, its breath smelling of an age-old butcher block. It snarled in his face and began to tear through the halfblood's shirt with razor-sharp canines already stained in red. Bumlets hurled the deranged vampire off him and scooted away from the scene for a chance to gather himself before the others attacked, but their next offense had already been devised and no sooner had one from their number fallen, they all began attacking at once. Three enclosed Gypsy into a corner, snatching her hands and pulling her in every which way to tear her apart piece by piece. She screamed against them and fought back, freeing her hands and clawing at the face of one beast with glassy nails that saw no end to their current assault. But then, the ground beneath seemed to be pulled from under her as her feet were seized and dragged across the way. 

            Mayfly bolted toward Itey and Rebel, not caring much for fighting this battle alone. Once at their side, she was flung around to face the horrid looks of one of the attackers and with heart hammering within her, she raised her cigarette and put its fire out onto the forehead of the vampire. In turn, the beast tottered back with face in hands and growled in distaste of the action. During his moment of weakness, Mayfly kicked at its stomach and legs, ultimately bringing it down to its knees, and when at last she had unsheathed the dagger all in Runner's party were required to carry, she carried out a bloody decapitation without second thought. 

            In minutes, the numbers in the beastly army had dwindled and all that was left were the halfbloods and one final vampire who proved to be of exceptional strength. It faced the others with Gypsy in its arms, a knife's blade against her neck. Gypsy's eyes radiated with hatred. She would much rather cut her own throat than fall casualty to a vampire's slaying, but such self-sacrifices would not have to be made that night, for blazing through the alley flew a flaming arrow aimed straight for the heart of the undead creature. And it didn't miss its target. 

The vampire roared in agony and reeled away from the halfblood it had taken as prisoner. The arrow still protruding from its front, its lung cavity became illuminated like a paper lantern set alight from its inner shine, and seconds later, this same marvel began to cave in on itself. The fire rushed throughout the vampire's body and instantaneously scorched the already dead flesh until the creature was no more than a piece of parchment melting away from the inferno's heat. Alas, where once was light, there remained only a heap of black rags, bones, and ash…all of which disappeared in a red light before any hands could touch the damned remains. 

The halfbloods stared at the sight, awestruck and breathless. It wasn't until Gypsy turned around to face the outlet of the alley that the others followed suit, remembering there was yet thanks owed to the one who had saved the girl. This one stepped from the shadows yonder and entered into the space where the moon's light yet bathed the walks, revealing himself to be none other than Runner Conlon, returned with two of the three young men he had gone to find. He let out a deep sigh, a crossbow hanging idly from one hand and a certain sadness lingering in his face. "Spot's armies are increasing. Apparently, he's even managed to recruit our barbaric predecessors."  He seemed as if he'd wanted to say more, but he was interrupted by the lyrics of a singing wanderer. 

_Fifty men on a dead man's chest. Yo-ho-ho and a bottle a' rum! The lyrics ended short after each repetition as the singer took a swig of his whiskey and then continued on. __Yo-ho, Yo-ho, a pirate's life for me! He laughed hysterically and lollygagged down the streets like a lover whose wedding proposal had just been accepted by the maiden of his dreams. Finally, he caught up with the halfbloods and their two new companions and flashed them a toothy grin. Standing almost six feet tall and wearing a red bandana atop his black gossamer hair, he would've come off as daunting had it not been for his amicable greeting. "Well now. 'Ello, mates! How's the day fairing ye, ay?"_

"Ah, Spades, ya bum!" replied a tall blonde who stood to Runner's left. He wore an eye patch over his left eye, a bandana around his neck, and an expression that clearly showed he was put to shame by his comrade's drunken speech. His hair was a ruffled mess, and his clothes were soiled with hardships from his most recent voyage, but with broad shoulders and a clear state of mind, he definitely had to be the leader of the trio. "Ay, pardon me friend here," he said in an accent the others couldn't recognize. "He loves the ale more than he loves his self! But he's an honorable pirate, nonetheless. That be Spades. Ye can call me Blink. And my first matey here, well this would be the respectable Racetrack Higgins." He draped an arm over the other fellow's shoulders in an affectionate manner, as if they all were brothers. 

Racetrack offered a half-smile to those to whom he was being introduced, still not understanding what Runner wanted with his ship buddies. "Ay, it's a pleasure to meet ya," he said with a nod. His hands rested on the midsections of his suspenders subconsciously and he shifted his weight from one foot to the next in wait. He was shorter than his companions, but looked the type that could easily bring an explosion of entertainment and laughter into a party. His black hair was cut somewhat short, a few waves brushed over his forehead, and his face was almost boyish in its round shape and delicate features. 

"It's been said you three have become immortal by drinking the elixir found at some enchanted fountain," Gypsy said as she drew closer to them, no longer shaken by the recent attack. "Is this true?"

The two pirates froze at the mention of that which they had believed had been kept secret, lest Spades had blurted the details to someone during his slurred recitations of their voyage. They glanced back at him, but the tallest of the trio had silently passed out against a light pole and was now being thrust into a dizzied sleep. Blink shook his head at this and turned back to the mysterious strangers who demanded to know about his personal business. "Why are ye so interested in knowing, ay? Care to strut with the immortal race like me mateys here? Ye know, it aint all what it's cracked up to be."      

Runner actually smirked at this, and shared a look with the members of his brood. When his emerald eyes returned to Blink, they were dancing with mordant amusement. "You have no idea how much I agree with you on that notion, Blink."

~*~*~*~*~*~

            Rain fell in a deadly ammunition that night upon the city of Paris, but the pellets of water sounded no more threatening than the buzzing of a housefly from within the stone walls of the citadel where three vampiric sires gathered to discuss matters of politics and consequences. At the head of a rectangular, polished table made of cherry wood sat the lord Spot Conlon with a cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. The flickering of the fireplace's flames across the way brought out a fierce glow in his eyes as he attempted to pierce his gaze through the flesh of his stubborn comrade. Fingers tapping onto the vellum where already written was a treaty to unite the three most prominent lines of vampire in the day's society and body drawn up with royal prestige, he waited for an answer. 

            Combat met his stare with one just as equivalent in vicious nature. His icy and pale green eyes were drained of any care and he offered no more than a sadistic smile clearly announcing his intention to deny the Conlon Dynasty the power that would be born through joining forces with his kindred. From within his glorious robes of crimson and black, his tall lean figure was already quaking with excitement at the idea of verbally sparring with his number one rival. "I'd sooner plunge a stake into my heart than give you the benefit of using my men for some foolhardy crusade to cover the world in darkness."

            "That can be arranged," Spot replied coolly, showing nothing of his inward reactions. 

            "And what exactly do you plan on telling Aerenthal come this confounded decadal meeting? That your proposals for genocide should be reconsidered? That cleansing the Immortal Confederacy of the halfbloods will prove advantageous to us?" He shook his head, eyes narrowing with rage. "To hell with you, Conlon! Since when did we ever need permission to murder the foul brutes? I slaughter halfbloods because it's my ordinance, not because some Elven lord gives me the right to do so! This battle hasn't anything to do with him!"

            "Without an edict being written through his name, we can be put to death for these acts!" He had remained calm throughout the entire meeting, but for this statement, the strength of his name and his very being thundered against the walls as he exclaimed the words. 

            Combat, already on his feet, was pacing the width of the room, his hands making elaborate gestures in the air as he measured out the syllables of his words and their meanings. "I will not submit myself to a coward elf who thrives on the acceptance of his underlings. We're far better than that! We have the whole world in the palms of our hands and all we need do…" He held out his hand palm upward to demonstrate his beliefs, and then brought his fingers down in a tight fist as if killing an invisible creature. "…is crush it to death…"

            Spot's eyes glanced sideways to Jack Kelly, the third of their small party. Jack was taken aback by the brutality of Combat's actions, but said nothing on the subject. He knew of the hatred that surged through the vampire's blood, and it was for this very reason that he and Spot had desired Combat's alliance with them. With Spot's leadership, Jack's rationality, and Combat's malice, their empire would be unstoppable.  

            Spot rose to his feet as well and crossed over to the manor lord with a wicked smirk. "Very well, then. You may call the shots when the time calls for our massacre." In his hands he held the treaty, and he laid it out onto the table before him as if it were a sacred entity. "But before we can begin to act in unison, we must fuse our powers. So what will it be: ally or no?" Combat grinned and produced from the insides of his robe a dagger with glistening blade. He slashed the sharp weapon across the tip of his finger and then signed his name in blood to the sordid story that had at that moment come to life. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

**@-}--- Until next time, thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Reviews are very much appreciated and when writing, I usually remember who my faithful reviewers are and try to give y'all your time in the spotlight. So keep those reviews rolling in and Happy Thanksgiving! **

 

            __


	4. The Decadal Meeting

DISCLAIMER: Oh for God's sake, I don't own the newsies! Let's make this easy, though. I only own Runner Conlon, Morning Dew, River, Malakai, Micah, Jeshua, Ahdi, Neeko, and Father Romanik. ^_^ Newsies are owned by Disney; everyone else owns themselves. Oh, and the song lyrics featured in some chapters don't belong to me but rather are the property of various artists. 

**_~*ETERNAL AVENGER*~_**

_Chapter Three: The Decadal Meeting_

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

            _Bordeaux__, __France__; The late 1400's _

            _Daemon __ponit fraudes - Dae', Dae' - inter laudes, cantus, saltus. Allicit cor honoribus. Daemon dat cor Jesu minus aestimat. Caro venatur sensibus; sensus ad haeret dapibus; inescatur, impinguatur, dilatatur. __Ad de mundorum milia, milena gaudia; Quid amabile Totum dat, cor Jesu…_

            Ever flourishing in the undying lands of the Elven people of Naphthalene were three lilies of the valley, each with a graceful individuality and quality that alleviated all inner pains and made one feel once again a part of life's progressing cycles. Three sisters; a certain trinity they formed when they set aside their differences and worked together cooperatively. But just days before the decadal meeting, such collaboration was a thing gone obsolete in the realms of their world. Preparations were being made for the coming of the Zion Sect of Seekers and the castle courts were far from being ready for the ceremonial traditions that would follow the scribes' arrival. Naturally, the royal family was in a ruckus against one another. 

            Lord Raeb stroked the stubs of grey hair making up his beard as he sat upon his throne, his frame erect and his hands strongly gripping the arms of the beautifully upholstered chair. He was a well-built man, whose sparkling blue eyes painted the hundreds of summers he had seen in one glance. His robes were of the colors of the clan, forest green and silver, and he donned the crest of his forefathers on one sleeve and the kingdom's coat of arms on the other. His youngest and only son sat at his feet, playing with hand-carved battle figurines made from ivory. The boy was no more than ten years of age and looked nothing of his father, for his eyes were of a darker nature and darted to and fro as if constantly curious about even the smallest things about him. His features were soft, as a child's should be, and he looked more the part of a pauper than any prince of Naphthalene. 

            "Les, my boy," spoke the king in a soft voice that contradicted his dominancy. "When I pass from the mortal coils of this world, you will be named lord of all, and yet you recline onto the floor and play with your armies like the common child. Ah, how time betrays us all. Once upon a time, I was much like you…but manhood has forced me to shelve such childish things…" His face was reminiscent of the memories his soul yearned for and he let out a sigh as if to relieve himself of them. 

            "Father, is it true what the minstrels say?" Les rose to his feet, his innocence now masked with concern. Too often had the stories of the court jesters become real to him, so that at night when he was alone in his chambers, the shadows framing his window evolved into the monsters that haunted his nightmares. It couldn't be true though, could it? The glory of his people was too great to be dampened by the evils of other immortals. Still, he wondered. 

            "What do they say, my son?"

            Les came closer and rested one hand upon his father's arm, those powerful arms that had held him as a baby and had protected him from the wrongs of society. Now, he looked for security within those arms once more. "That a new age is rising. That the time for evil has come and…"

            "Ah, such foolish musings, Les," said the king with a light laugh. He ruffled his son's hair and caressed the boy's cheek warmly. "You needn't worry yourself over matters like…"

            "But father, everyone in the courts is talking about it! Vampires, they say! Vampires are steadily becoming the master race within the immortal community and they plan to seize top ranking from the Elven people! They will hunt in the nights, the moon their only friend. They will sneak into every habitat, whether shack or palace, and steal the lives of all. They're forging special talismans, father, so that even we don't stand a chance against their hatred! The time for evil has entered our world."

            Lord Raeb watched his son spill the words in a torrent, bewildered by the child's knowledge. He had known of the vampires and their supposed intentions. He had listened well to the tales of the traveling minstrels and gypsies. But never in his heart had he believed his son would fall to the fear plaguing immortals across the globe at the prospect of being the new prey for vampires. He took Les' hand in his own and squeezed the boy's fingers reassuringly. "The time for evil was always in our world, my son. It was a sleeping giant…only now awakened by malice…"

            Across the halls, the door to the throne room flung open and in strode two of the three sisters considered the gems of Naphthalene. Both with long golden hair that streamed down their backs like banners of sunrays and gorgeous blue eyes like that of their father's, the only difference between them was a four-inch matter of height displaying their age difference. The reserved lady Lorein and her younger sister Lookout walked side by side toward their father, the former garbed in a silver dress, the latter in the apparel of a commoner. The speed of their gait made evident whatever pressing matter worried them and when they had finally reached the throne, they came to a sudden halt and looked at the king pleadingly. 

            "Father, would you please tell your youngest daughter of the need to dress appropriately for tonight's guests?" Lorein held out a hand toward her sister, nose crinkled in disgust. She had an inclination to take things rather seriously, and this would not be an exemption. To have Seekers dining in one's abode was considered an eminent honor, and Lorein would not see such honor tarnished by the tenacity of her sibling's tomboyish ways. 

            Lookout rolled her eyes at the remonstration. "Father, this is ridiculous. I promised the stable boys I would help them groom the horses today! There's no reason for me to wear a gown if it'll only become dirty."

            Lorein looked at her, incredulously. "Groom the horses!"

            "It's far more enjoyable than sitting in front of my vanity all day grooming myself!"

            "I suppose that's why you have yet to obtain suitors of your own!"

            "Silence!" Lord Raeb's order was a loud boom that shocked all three children gathered before him. His facial features were creased with impatience and he rose from his rightful seat in a quick motion. "Enough of this, you both sound like schoolgirls fighting over a doll! Lookout, as much as I love to encourage your pursuit of freedom from the confines of the nobility, I must side with your sister on this matter. The guests we will accommodate tonight are the same scribes who will be writing your history when you come of age. Not a single detail goes unnoticed by them."

            Lorein nodded in satisfaction, knowing her father would see the graveness of the situation. She glanced down at her younger sister and shrugged when the girl pouted at her. In all honesty, she ached for the same freedom as did her sister, and it wasn't at all her desire to win some petty argument this day when she had brought her complaints to the king. She loved her family dearly, but sometimes people had to be reminded of the offices they held in a kingdom. "Very well. Come Lookout, let us work on that hair of yours…" She grabbed a handful of the girl's golden locks and sighed at the tangles she would have to comb through. 

            The younger groaned at the notion of being tidied up and turned to face her father. "When this is all over, have I the permission to return to the fields?" The man nodded and she beamed with excitement. "Great, and Lorein, you can return to your archery as well!" 

            Lord Raeb's gaze swiftly snapped to fall upon Lorein. "Archery?" She hesitated under his scrutiny while struggling for an answer that would cover up the truth of her favorite pastime hobby, but she didn't have to think any further for at that moment, the loud blaring trumpets of the acolytes lifted into the air to signal the coming of an honorable individual. "What is this? It's only noon…they couldn't have possibly arrived already…"

            Through the already open doors of the throne room, a train of nobles and servants streamed in excitedly, all eyes glued onto the individual at the front of the fellowship. He was a young man in a robe of royal blue, a distinct gown that very much resembled those used by cathedral choirs or altar boys. It brought out the oceanic shades of his eyes and made lighter the happiness his lips presently conveyed as they smiled at the young woman on his left. 

She was the eldest of Lord Raeb's children and the first gem of Naphthalene. Her features were carved in the beautiful delicacy of Elven maids and she more so resembled her brother Les than any of her other siblings. Long, chocolate hair done up in a bun with curly ringlets framing her face and almond-shaped eyes warm with delight, she looked like a bride on her wedding day as she casually walked along in a white gown onto which was embedded silver stones. Full of life, forever optimistic, and always smiling, her name was Lyf and it was apparent why her existence was so cherished by her people. 

The king came forward and met the two halfway down the red velvet carpeting of the floor. He extended his hands to the young man and embraced him cordially before stepping back and smiling pridefully. "I see you've already met my eldest daughter, River. In case you weren't aware, she still awaits a suitor…" 

"Father!" Lyf's cheeks flushed to a dark shade of red. 

River's smiled widened at this and having gently taken her hand, he raised it to his lips and placed a tender kiss just above her knuckles. "And quite the beauty she is, sire. But I would make her a miserable wife, for the life of a Seeker leaves very little room for personal relationships." The small group of nobles gathered laughed at his confession, applauding lightly at the words. Following this, the king proceeded to introduce River to his other three children and afterwards called for a chamberlain to give him the updates on dinner and such. He was fully enthralled by being visited by a Seeker, but he had been preparing for a lower-ranking one, not the First Seeker of the Zion Sect of the Gatherer Society! Hopefully, Lyf would entertain the young man long enough to properly arrange a feast fit for such tribute. 

"Come now, River. My children shall give you a tour of the palace whilst I tend to kingly duties. At evening we shall dine and celebrate your presence together!" He shook hands with the Seeker once more and then exited out the throne room, shooing the other nobles away as he went out. 

River smiled at Lyf. "Besides, your heart belongs to another…"

"What?" The tone of her voice was sensitive, but even the softest of words couldn't mask the surprise in her voice. 

"Your heart," the Seeker explained. "You've already given it to someone. A halfblood. The vast differences between the both of you, though, have recently made you uncertain about the relationship. And so you play your father's game and allow him to shove eligible princes to you."

"How…how do you know all this?"

He met her eyes with his own and felt his heartbeat quicken simply by being this close to her. Everything about the maiden…her silky hair, her peaceful face, even the pointed ears that were characteristics of her kind…they made him jealous of the one to whom her love had been given. He felt an urge to kiss her, then, but her three siblings were yet in the room and he wouldn't betray chivalry to appease his emotions. "I can recite the histories of countless world empires from memory…and you're shocked by my knowledge of simple love affairs?" The statement was a bit scathing, but when he smiled he made it known there was no harm meant. 

Les and Lookout diverted their attention elsewhere. Still young, love had yet to beckon their hearts. Relationships didn't interest them, nor did sappy dialogues between two Romantics. And so they began kicking up a conversation about the vampires in hushed whispers. Lorein, on the other hand, was spellbound to River and his sweet treatment of her sister. Time remained still all about her; even the damask draperies of the windows cascading in folds were like frozen waterfalls. She wanted to be loved as was Lyf, but she was torn between the duties of a woman and the pleasures of a child. She would meander through the castle courts in magnificently designed gowns like a coquette, of course, but when she was sure there was no audience, she would pass herself off as a man in slacks and tunic with hair hidden under a hat and would take for the fields to practice her archery. 

A man like River, however, was someone she'd renounce those activities for in a pulse beat. And that was saying a lot, for unbeknownst to her very father, she had master skills with a long bow and arrow. Training since childhood, she had reached near perfection. Yet to be River's lover…she would retire from it all. He was revered across the world for his acclaimed histories and knowledge of the times even before Christ, making him one of the top sources for new scribes within the Society. His intelligence was unmistakable and even amidst so much praise, he was as humble as a child with a carefree nature that at once deemed him an individual with whom others could easily get along. 

Lost in her thoughts, she wasn't aware of the fact that she was staring at him until he attempted to talk to her twice and not receiving an answer, had resulted to waving a hand in front of her face. She started at the action and then blushed profusely. "Forgive me," she whispered, bowing her head in apology to escape the ridicule of his eyes. 

But the ridicule was only imagined, for he soon after raised her chin up with a thumb and smiled. "There's nothing to forgive, milady. And there's no need for you to keep such beautiful eyes downcast. The world is ahead of you; look it in the face and see how different it'll treat you." She only nodded, not knowing what to say. 

Dinner was quite the fine meal. The Naphthalene chefs knew their trade well and had served up an array of tasty dishes, appetizers, and drink. River suspected there was enough food on the table before him to feed his entire Society; he didn't know why Lord Raeb had insisted on such a welcoming party, but he wouldn't be one to complain. He took a few sips of the zinfandel in his wine glass and then continued feasting on his veal with salacious desire. 

"So River, do tell us of your travels. How is it that the Society had the audacity to send you out on your lonesome, knowing full well the dangers of traveling in solitary?" The king signaled to his servant to pour him more wine and then raised the glass in toast to the Seeker. The others followed suit and offered their cheers as well.

"Thank you," River replied to the action with a gracious nod. "As a matter of fact, I requested to come here on my own. I needed time to reflect on certain matters…as the old saying goes, only through solitude may one find enlightenment." 

"Did you meet any vampires on your way here?" The inquiry had been blurted out by an over-excited Les, and the table fell silent at the mention of the undead. 

River fidgeted with the tassel ends of the cloth napkin upon his lap. The question had been like icy water thrown into his face on a pleasurable summer's day. He had expected to speak with the king privately on the subject of vampires, but now twenty pairs of eyes stared at him in expectancy. He combed back his fallen strands of brown hair and struggled for a response. The king was busy scolding his son, but River stood to his feet to end the chastisement and begin delivering the message he was forced to bear. 

"The people of Naphthalene are in danger." Horrified whispers rose and fell among those seated at the table but they instantly died down when River spoke again. "The rumors are true. Spot Conlon, Jack Kelly, and Darrien 'Combat' Bailey have signed a treaty and have merged into one great alliance. In 1367, I was assigned to chronicle the life of one Lucas Conlon, better known as the halfblood called Runner by his brood. Runner was next in line to inherit the Conlon Dynasty, but his conscience one day got the better of him and he turned his back on evil long ago. Now he leads other halfbloods, the outcasts amongst immortals, to acquire equality. But equality is something Spot and company don't care much for.

"According to recent documents obtained by a Seeker in my sect, the three main purebred vampires have together written their proposals for an Age of Darkness to befall our world. Beginning with the elimination of halfbloods, they will then rid the world of mortal kind. With every passing day, the sun's power wanes, and it is their belief that there'll come a time when humanity will bring darkness upon itself. When this time approaches, their next obstacle will be Elven kind; for millennia they've envied your superiority in all things. Following this purge will be the removal of slayers, Elementals, healers, mages, and any other immortal not on their side. It will be a bloodbath no doubt, and it will see no end."

An eternity seemed to pass as the morbid words fell upon the ears of the elves. At last, Lord Raeb looked up and tried to draw up strength from his weakening source. His eyes were almost mournful as he asked his question of River. "What must we do to stop this?"

River's gaze never once left the king. He swallowed back his fear for the kindly man and gripped the chair in front of him for support. "The only thing you can do. Attend the decadal meeting, and present your arguments to Aerenthal." 

~*~*~*~*~*~

An ominous night in late October marked the date of the decadal meeting so many were dreading to attend. Blood-red leaves fell from the oaks just outside the colossal theatre where the conference would be held, blanketing the walks with their frail but menacing forms. It was almost as if a sea of bitter sanguine had washed upon the world of the everlasting, and each immortal who walked upon those leaves that night couldn't help but come to grips with the forthcoming horror that awaited them once they entered into the theatre. 

Inside the stone walls of the building, those gathered were greeted with less foreboding surroundings. The theatre's house, where on performance nights sat the audiences, was massive. Its maximum occupancy could be averaged at several thousands, counting the red-velvet seats on both the ground and balcony levels. Chandeliers hung down from the domed ceiling, only half their candles lighted to give off a dimmed illumination as was most acceptable by the majority. In the fellowship hall of the theatre was set up a table upon which were set pastries and other baked goods, not to mention decanters of blood courtesy of some vampire delinquent who would be the first to add fuel to an already raging fire. Taking the red liquid to be wine, many immortals had taken a swig of the decanters' contents…only to yell in horror when the familiar taste of blood greeted their tongues. 

Needless to say, the vampire community was avoided as much as possible for the rest of the night. This was, however, a most difficult task, for the undead occupied close to a sixth of the theatre's seating, so great were the numbers in their party. The section graced with their presence was on ground level by special request and filled up the entire area on the theatre's right, as one just entering the building would see it. During the hour preceding the beginning ceremony of the meeting, they made such deafening noise with their perverse jokes and raspy laughter that thrice had they been asked by one of the elders to quiet down; the requests had gone unheeded. 

Among the vampiric ranks was familiar sight Combat with his two new allies, Spot and Jack. The three were standing at the front of their section, sneering across the way at the hybrids and challenging the Elven kind seated in the balcony with foul gestures. Only then remembering something, Combat discontinued the game and turned to face his companions. "Hey, gents, you wouldn't believe what one of my fledglings did while he was yet waiting for the theatre doors to open at dusk…" He whistled to a young man seated three rows back and the other obeyed instantly, rising to his feet and coming to his master at once. Combat threw an arm over his shoulders and grinned. "Allow me to introduce you to the most notorious thief within my brood. We rightfully call him Snitch. Let him have the honor of showing you the prize he pinched off our rivals…"

With a pat on the back, Snitch was encouraged to reveal that which he had stolen hours before, and encouragement was something he definitely needed. As much as Combat adored his thievery dexterity and skills, he still very much feared the sire. His large hazel eyes looked from Combat to the other two, and back to Combat again with nervous apprehension. He was a lean fellow, with lanky arms and legs and a face that still maintained its baby fat. His hair fell in thick brown locks under the sackcloth hat he wore, adding as much youth to him as did his large front teeth, which almost were lengthier than his canines. Reaching to the back pocket of his worn slacks, he brought into the light a newly-folded piece of parchment and began opening it to its full dimensions for all to behold. 

"These are the point of debates Lord Raeb and his Elven people were going to present to Aerenthal. There's only three…as you can see…"

Spot eye's shone with excitement at being given extra leverage against his enemies. He snatched the parchment from the young man and tightened his grip on its edges, reading the lines of the arguments numerous times over until the words had been imprinted into his memory. "Ha, this only further proves to me the weakness of Naphthalene's power these days. A child could come up with better proposals!" He gave the paper to Jack and then took a moment to consider things. Before the debate began, he would have to formulate arguments that would annihilate Lord Raeb's foolish beliefs. His eyes fixated on Combat. "Have you read this excrement?"

"I have," the lord manor answered with an inane smile. "I must say, we shan't have any problems seizing power."

Jack folded the paper twice and looked past the two at an approaching figure. "Here comes trouble…"

Dressed in her finest gown and cloak yet, Onyx DeFelice came ambling down the carpeted aisles of the theatre, a fan in one hand and the other clenched in a fist. Her hair was loose and streamed down her back in elegant waves, and her reddened lips were drawn into a straight line as she neared Combat and his camaraderie of fools. "Is what I hear true?" she hissed at him in a sharp whisper, grabbing his arm and turning him about to face her. "Is this nonsense of you signing a treaty with those idiots true? And when were you going to tell me?"

"I wasn't aware that I needed to obtain your permission, milady," the lord replied with a casual air that bordered indifference. 

Onyx addressed Snitch next. "Did you know of this as well? Does everyone in our entire brood know for sure but me?" Before he could answer, she transferred her anger back to Combat. "Do you not realize what you've done? You've tied yourself to a treacherous dragon and there's no…"

He grabbed her face in one hand and squeezed his grip to silence her. His eyes were darkening with seriousness as he spoke to her. "I don't need the exasperating chirps of a fledgling to ever sound in my ears. I am your master, and you will honor me the way you are required to. If you've forgotten what power I hold over you, I'd be more than happy to give you a private demonstration in your quarters tonight." His grin was sinister, but its end soon dropped into a maddened expression when she broke free of his grasp and spat onto his face. 

"Obnoxious swine," she threw at him. "I'd rather sell myself to the low lives than find myself in the same bed with you." She didn't flinch when he had brought a hand up to slap her, nor did she smile in victory when he decided against the public abuse and had lowered it. "If it's surprises you like, milord," she said, each word dripping with contempt, "let me acquaint you with my newest slave. A Polish boy. I'm quite sure you may recognize him…" She stepped aside and pulled someone who had been standing behind her into the center of attention. 

Combat's eyes flashed with warning, but he masked his shock with ease by placing a smile on his face. "Well, well, well. I never thought I'd see the likes of you again, Slick. So how's serfdom been treating you as of late?"

Slick was inwardly shaking. A few weeks ago, he would've told any who listened that the vampiric race was merely a fable, and that all who believed in its existence were blasphemers bound to see hell's gates. But his life had seemed to take a complete 180 degree turn, for now he was the servant to a vampiress and presently stood face to face with three revered and fearsome lords of demonic traits. "You…you…I'll k-kill you for this you confounded monster!" He lunged forward to attack Combat, but the vampire had only to step back and the boy fell face down onto the flooring. 

"Kill me for what? Because you've recently found out you were a blasted halfblood? And whose fault is that, if not your very mother and father?" He grabbed Slick by the hair and raised him onto his feet effortlessly. "Didn't you know, my boy, that your father was of the undead and your mother a mere mortal? If there's anyone to whom fault is owed, it's your own damned family, you diseased street rat." He shoved the boy away from him, sending Slick tumbling yards away until he crashed into a row of seats and earned himself a collection of bruises. Combat spat onto the ground and considered the case closed. 

Onyx was teeming with rage. She helped Slick to his feet, sent one last glare to her sire, and then headed off to the section reserved for the halfbloods, which was strangely enough at the center of the theatre where all could behold and perhaps ridicule them. 

Ridicule was expected, of course, for the halfbloods were having problems of their own. For starters, Runner had only just that day received from several of his followers the arguments they wanted him to voice once Aerenthal made open the discussion. And so the young leader was busily skimming over each piece of vellum, scribbling down the central ideas from every single one. 

Aside from this, Gypsy and Hades had begun to turn on Kitten, accusing her of a crime they hadn't even the evidence to back up, save for an espied conversation the girl had had with the purebloods. "You were with Spot at dusk," Hades snapped, the tone of her voice darker than even the black outfit she donned. "What of that?"

"Giving away our secrets to the enemy, no doubt," answered Gypsy as she approached the young woman from behind. "So not only are you a whore, you're a dirty mongrel too. And what's worse, a traitor!"

Kitten shook her head vehemently. "Your tongues are quicker than your thoughts. If I wanted to congregate with Spot, I would've lapped the blood from his wrist by now. Why would I waste my time accompanying the lot of you on your constant quests to correct society's wrongs? And besides, it was I who convinced Onyx to join our ranks!" But that wasn't enough for the other two, and in the end, they had driven Kitten away and had sent her marching angrily through the cities of France while the meeting carried on.

From where he sat, Runner frowned. He had heard the whole conversation and it disheartened him to a certain extent, but he decided it was something to be dealt with at a later time. He continued writing. Bumlets was at his side, double-checking their proposals with the perfectionism of a fanatical linguist, underlining what needed to be re-worded and asking his leader every few minutes why was it they were even bothering including the arguments of everyone and their mother. It wasn't until they were two-thirds of the way through the work that a shadow fell upon them.

"Who is the one called Runner Conlon here?"

Runner looked up, surprised to see the Elven lord of Naphthalene before him. "Your highness, that would be me." 

Lord Raeb sighed and rested his hands on his hips. It almost appeared as if he was musing over a way to rid himself of the burdens that had steadily collected onto his shoulders. "Master Runner, I've heard of the great things you've done for your people, of the honor you denied the Conlon Dynasty when you relinquished your rightful throne. I wanted you to know that you have the elves' backing in all things. We shall rid our world of this darkness…together…" Giving a slight nod, he left without another word. 

Runner arched an eyebrow at this, but wouldn't focus too hard on the ordeal, especially when he had no idea what the elves were planning on gaining from this. Especially when the Elementals and Seekers were beginning to file into the building. The crowds fell to a light hush as three of the four Elementals took their seats at stage right; a child of Fire had yet to be found and so the trio would have to do. The Seekers would take up the left section of the theatre. There were seven sects of historians, one for each continent, and 13 members within each sect. Nine additional Seekers known as the Elders made the entire Gatherer Society even at 100 members. 

The flags of the Immortal Confederacy were let down, each massive cloth bearing the insignia of the silver eagle that had come to symbolize eternity. "All rise in honor of his eminence, the venerated Aerenthal Conrad." The words echoed throughout the building and following them came a procession of trumpeters, behind which strode the elven lord who had been the topic of world-wide conversations all year long. Aerenthal Conrad. He was worshipped like a pagan god, the office he held above all others within the immortal community. It was to him absolute power would be given had the Confederacy not adopted democratic procedures, and because of this, his underlings tended to paint him up to be some omniscient and almighty emperor with final say in all things. 

Aerenthal was the most beautiful among the immortals, as well. His features even more arresting than the sexual appeal the vampires gave off. He was tall and strong, broad shoulders and a well-built chest hidden under the robes he wore. He moved as if it took no endeavor at all, his steps no more than a glide across the floor. Voluminous hair of a golden shade fell past his shoulders perfectly, framing a face that was at once proud and imperial. Green eyes more depthless than a chasm to the earth's center and lashes casting shadows onto his cheeks, if he took pride in his renowned position, his expression didn't show it. 

He walked onto the stage by means of a richly decorated staircase, growing more annoyed with each step. In all honesty, he didn't want to be present this night, giving ear to the myriads of disputes that would rise between the vampires and those whom they despised. Why couldn't these meetings be held not every ten years, but every fifty? He'd even vouch for a 'once a century' conference, but the elders wouldn't have anything of the sort. He plopped down onto his would-be throne set on stage in front of the thousands of immortals who had made an appearance and nodded in gratitude for their having stood up in reverence. He noticed only then that not a single individual from the vampire section had arisen to their feet; he brushed the matter aside and officially announced that the decadal meeting was now in session. 

Aerenthal spent the first few hours of the meeting sleeping with his eyes open. Only thirty minutes into the Elder Seekers' readings of current events and highlights of the past ten years and he had already gone brain dead. He didn't understand why the scribes simply didn't create some sort of newsletter to be sent out annually; there sure were enough of them to make copying the news by hand a light task. When an active mental state had returned to him, he busied himself with doodling on the pieces of parchment at his desk, and when that became tedious, he began writing love letters to the concubines he had befriended during his stay in France. He swore he was about to drop dead from boredom just as the Seekers announced their business complete. Aerenthal would bet his life that every immortal in the building was inwardly celebrating the news, too. 

"Very well, then," the elf lord said, cutting the words short as to not waste any further time. "According to my notes, there is only one thing left on my agenda. In simple dictation, it reads: _Concerning Spot Conlon's desire to have his alliance with Jack Kelly and Combat Bailey officially recognized. If there are any wishing to speak on this affair, please stand to your feet." There wasn't a single immortal who remained seated. All shouting at once to be heard, all waving their hands wildly to be seen, the theatre rumbled with the dissonance of the masses. _

Aerenthal cursed in his native tongue. It was going to be a long night. He walked to the stage's edge and signaled to everyone to cease in their noise-making. "I can't hear all of you at once," he said, feeling as if he were speaking to children. "Nor do I have the wish to hear all of you at once. As we've done for millennia, each group must elect a spokesperson if they wish to be heard." The riot smoothed out in a rapid decrescendo as only a few hands remained risen. "Excellent. Lord Raeb speaking for the Elven kind, please tell us where you stand on this matter."

The king was anxious to do just that and he turned to his esquire for the notes he had written especially for tonight, but the young boy couldn't find the notes anywhere in his pockets as he frantically searched for them. On the ground level, Combat exchanged knowing grins with his allies and then continued to watch the ridiculous display. At last, Lord Raeb waved his hand at the boy and decided to make his speech extemporaneous. "Spot Conlon does the works of a devil, if he's not the devil incarnate himself!"

"And Lord Raeb," countered a very nonchalant Spot now seated, "does the works of a cowardly king who hides behind the profound beauty of his daughters. Were I the devil incarnate, I'd surely reserve hell's finest inferno for you, elf." Further chaos ensued. From the balcony, the elves shook their fists in the utmost frustration while the vampires below snarled and snapped their teeth in response. 

"Enough!" came Aerenthal's shout. He was already wishing the meeting would find its end. "This is not a fighting rink in which I'll allow this senseless trade of insults here and there. Don't think I'll refuse the elders the sole power to decide the matter among themselves. We've many times resulted to the procedure in the past."

"I've only one question," uttered an elderly woman from the section where spell casters were gathered. "What exactly do the vampire lords intend on achieving through this alliance?"

To answer this, none other than ring leader Spot Conlon arose and sauntered to the area just in front of the stage where he could address the entire Confederacy, especially the halfbloods glaring at him from their central location. He clasped his hands behind his back and held his chin high in the air, as if the smell of the hybrid disgusted him. He wore attire fit for a prince, the most prominent accessory he wore was a silver chain onto which an inverted cross was hung. Its large silver frame glared at his enemies, reminding him of the evil from which he had been born. 

"This alliance," he began, "is nothing less than an outward demonstration of the extremes my fellow vampiric kin will attend to should you fools continue to oppress us. This rubbish you call a Confederacy is a frail backbone that would snap within my hands had I the desire to crush it. You all speak of changing the world, but you're too gutless to put a vision past yourself. Well, we've swam in the shallow end of the dream pool for far too long. Tonight, whether you accept this alliance or not, we begin creating a new world order.

"The world has always been our playground, and I won't tolerate the mortal race from stealing that luxury from us. The time has come for another age…a dark age. And that's just what we intend on serving you on plates made of human skulls. Honor! Pride! True Immortality!  The Conlon Dynasty only rids the world of that which drags us down." His eyes were electrifying with unadulterated revulsion. "And what exactly drags us down? Hypocrites, Cowards, Fools…" His burning glare rested onto his very cousin and fully enraged, he pointed a finger straight ahead of him and shouted the next words. "And the filthy mongrels of this damned Confederacy!" The purebloods cheered him on, roaring with approval and clapping their hands in a loud thunder. The halfbloods, on the other hand, immediately jumped to their own defense. 

"If there's one thing that taints the name of every honorable thing this Confederacy upholds, it's the bloody curse of vamps across the globe!" And silence fell once again, for it had been a bold retort. It had come from Runner's mouth. He was standing now, and had walked out onto the aisle to near his cousin; the two Conlon's were face to face in challenge. 

"Just because you're halfblood," the elder said as calmly as his current temper allowed, "doesn't mean you can shorten the name of our race to that insult of a syllable."

"I'll do as I please," Runner snapped back. "Especially if I think you're half the immortal you should be." 

Spot seized him by the front of his tunic and slammed him against the structure of the stage, trying to drill the halfblood's body through the tons of brick and mortar. And when that didn't work, he bared his teeth in a snarl and began sending blows across Runner's face with reckless abandon. He would kill the confounded mongrel with his bare hands! But by orders of Aerenthal, Combat and Jack-along with quite a number of other vampires-wrenched their leader away from the halfblood only in time to prevent a fractured skull, for Runner's face was already drenched in blood. 

Runner wiped the trails of red off him, as to not draw attraction to him from the hundreds of vampires around, but he knew the smell of open wounds had already contaminated the atmosphere. He staggered back, supported by the arms of Bumlets and more, and watched as Spot broke free from his restraints and came marching back to him. 

"Is it a challenge you want, cousin?" Spot inquired with a dangerous tone in his voice. "Is it? So bold are your words but where's the action to back them up?" Moments bursting with tension passed as the two stared each other down. Finally, it was Runner who diverted his gaze to the floor, wordlessly declining the challenge Spot had presented. "That's what I thought. You're clever, I must say. A guttersnipe has no place challenging one of pure blood."

Runner kept his eyes on the floor. Humiliated to the grandest degree, he shoved his own companions away and stormed out the theatre, not caring what demons the Confederacy would give birth to that night.

~*~*~*~*~*~

**@-}--- Until next time~**

**A big**** thanks to: Cerridwen4, Sapphy, Raven, ember, Tooey, Tiger17, Onyx, Dreamer110, Chipper, geometrygal, Lyf, SmartassLeprechaun, and Fantasy3! I love reading your comments so much; they make me happy. ^_^ Please keep them rolling in! In Chapter 5, I'll start writing out my shout-outs. Heehee. But in any case, one more chapter set in past times and then it's to the 1900's we go, which means the majority of you will start making your appearances. YaY! Anywho, hoped you enjoyed this chapter. Please throw me a bone, and see ya next time! ******

 

            __


	5. Divisions and Reunions

DISCLAIMER: Oh for God's sake, I don't own the newsies! Let's make this easy, though. I only own Runner Conlon, Morning Dew, River, Malakai, Micah, Jeshua, Ahdi, Neeko, and Father Romanik. ^_^ Newsies are owned by Disney; everyone else owns themselves. Oh, and the song lyrics featured in some chapters don't belong to me but rather are the property of various artists. 

DISCLAIMER: The lyrics featured in this chapter are from "Bye Bye Miss American Pie" by Con McLean. 

****

**_~*ETERNAL AVENGER*~_**

_Chapter Four: Divisions and Reunions_

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

            _London__,_ _England_; _1594_

_            So come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick. Jack flash sat on a candlestick, because fire is the Devil's only friend. Oh, and as I watched him on the stage, my hands were clenched in fists of rage. No angel born in hell could break that Satan spell. And as the flames climbed high into the night to light the sacrificial right, I saw Satan laughing with delight…the day the music died…_

London was the heart of England, and England the richly-cultured heart of the globe, where the arts flourished like spring flowers in an immortal garden of life and the words of playwrights made every diamond in the night skies worthy to look upon. It was like drinking a swig of bubbling and refreshing wine every evening, or submerging one's self in a warm pool of honey after a day's load of labor and unfavorable circumstances. It was the city that charged energy-filled blood through the veins of the world, and though it was but an expression to those who populated the Elizabethan villages under the reign of the unmarried Queen, this 'blood' seemed to beckon vampires who suddenly put on the guise of poets if only to win an unsuspecting admirer by the night's end. 

            William was coming home from another successful night at the theatre company, which he had helped form under the patronage of the Lord Chamberlain, with lips slightly upturned into a small smile as he mused over Burbage's characterization of the lead player in _Henry IV_. "Perhaps once I've garnered enough money," said the man, who was upon his thirtieth year, "I might build a theatre like none other upon the south bank of the Thames. Oh, that I would be a shareholder in the enterprise!" 

            He stroked his well-groomed beard at the thought and even let a light laughter escape his lips as he analyzed the possibilities. For months now he'd been considering proposing a suggestion to his current acting company, an idea laden with his desire to build a new theatre in the suburb of Southwark. Its stage would be nearly fifty feet in length, and five feet high; the _Frons Scenae _doors would reach towering heights of eleven feet and it would roughly be a domed-shape building with twenty sides. Ah, such an innovative man was he, always spawning radical notions the people only proved to love. 

            He headed home with a new bounce in his step as muses raced within his mind with creative agility and zeal. "Perhaps I shall author a comedy," thought he aloud, raising one hand in a clenched fist as he began to enact in a rather loud volume the basic plotline that would serve as a backbone for this farcical play. But moments later, he discontinued his knavery and became serious while traversing the dark alleyways that would lead him to his home. "Ah, but tame thy heart, fair muse, for we shan't forget the present work upon which we've so labored for weeks."

            And so resigning himself to refrain from pleasantry so long as he was caught up with the writings of dramatic romance, he furthered on his way. It wasn't until he was within mere yards of his humble abode that he first heard the footsteps. They were self-assured but hard upon the cobblestone walks, and William knew with little contemplation that it was a man who followed him, no doubt with dire intentions to rob him of the money which he did not have. He spun around in one quick motion in hopes of catching the perpetrator beforehand, but all that was to be beheld were the shadows upon the streets. Bothered by this, the young playwright hurried on. 

            Once inside his home, he lighted two candles and set them upon the wooden windowsill of the parlour; his wife Anne and the children were already fast asleep upstairs, as it was well past midnight. Though plays usually were performed in the afternoon, William and a few of his comrades had decided to drink the night away in celebration of their prosperity, and time had quite escaped them in the hours that had passed. Now, the young playwright was back into a focused state of mind as he made his way to the desk where scores of plays, sonnets, and epics had been written for the pleasure of those who would entertain him as his readers. He plopped down anxiously into the chair that had for years served him well and took up a quill to begin just where he had last left off.

            But as he was about to bring the quill's point to the parchment, he realized with much confusion that this piece of vellum was not the one he had used last night, for he distinctly remembered having stopped three-fourth's the way into his outline for his forthcoming tragic story at the top of a sixth page, and the bare article before him showed nothing of this testament. "Bloody hell!" he yelled, shoving everything off the face of his desk in a fit of rage. Thrice already had this happened! Thrice had some confounded thief snuck into his home, successfully stealing one of his near-finished manuscripts. He could hardly believe it was happening yet again! 

            He jumped from his chair and began to pace the study frantically, combing tense fingers through his hair, often biting at his nails as if he thought the act of doing so would bring his outline back to him. "Wretched guttersnipes!" he cursed, taking a book from one of the many shelves lining up the room's walls and throwing the hardcover across the room with another shout of indignation. Then, no longer in the mood to breathe life into his literary characters, he stormed out the study and back into the parlour he went. A discomforting sentiment befell him; the blood-curdling feeling of someone watching him with sinister intents. 

            "Show thyself!" he ordered, in a voice that though bold, wavered in its courage. His gaze darted from the upholstered chairs of the sitting area, to the piano forte situated in a corner, to the twin candles upon the windowsill. A sharp gasp escaped him. Lounged against the glass pane of the window sat a shadow, its large hazel eyes staring at him and showing nothing of what they felt. 

            "What art thou, that thy malefactions should reek through thy very countenance?" William took a step back, and then stood firmly in place. He would not cower away from this scoundrel, this foul swindler who'd undoubtedly robbed the playwright of several of his works. "Thou would make me a fool!"

            "Calm now, fair Shakespeare," returned the shadow in an urbane drawl. Eyes affixed onto the dramatist, the mysterious stranger touched each of the flames aside him with index finger and thumb, putting the lights out and delivering the atmosphere into darkness. "I shall let thee look upon myself as I truly am…" And suddenly, a soft blue luminosity enlightened the room, its origin not apparent but blatantly of magic. 

            William Shakespeare could not hide his fear upon looking at the creature that stood before him. "Blessed Saints! Thou art…thou art damned!" He took quickened steps back, tripping over a discarded book and landing harshly upon his back. His features made evident his trepidation as his skin turned to a most pallid shade and sweat dotted his forehead in transparent beads. "Stay back, devil!" He crawled to his feet and dashed to an opposing wall, whereupon he took up a displayed saber and held it lengthwise toward the vampire. 

            "Ah, Shakespeare, always did I imagine thee to be of quaint character, but thy manners toward me this evening are contrary to such assumptions!" The vampire laughed a melodious tune, his lips parting to show the long canines characteristic of his kind, and the large front teeth that were not. He too, much like the mortal man he taunted, was of pale complexion-but only because this was more than natural in the face of light, and yet…something about his airs would make one think he was not passionate about this infantile pursuit to waken a mad frenzy in one of England's most admired gentleman. 

            The vampire was tall and lean, with a youthful face that sought merrier times, and the faint sigh he released spoke more of his despair than of his utter boredom. "Rest assured, man! I've no hidden desire to steal from thee thy plays! Oh, that I could write like thee, that I could stir man to feel passion, to weep like a trained spaniel, to laugh when folly bids him so, and to cry out in rage when injustice hath bid him. But nay, 'tis not my gift to implement, nor mine to steal. I actually come here this night out of interest of thy newest work…this _Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet_ which thou hath begun to write. I'm not quite content with the ending. For thou hath made the 'star-crossed' lovers return to one another's arms by the end…and oh, how sickening to read! Make it a tragedy, man! Make them taste the bitter sweet honey of _death_. Not all things in life work for the better. Many a man must learn this."

            "A tragedy?" William looked terribly disgusted by the mere notion. "They are but teenagers! What reasons have they to take their own lives?" His grip on the saber's handle loosened not, but he did lower his guards to some extent.

            "Hast thou not lived, Shakespeare? Hast thou not seen the drudgeries of life?" He took from his back pocket those pieces of the playwright's outline which he had momentarily stolen and held it out to the mortal, then, with a genuine desire to return the work to its rightful owner. "Change it," said he simply, locks of brown hair slipping over his forehead. 

            "I shall do no such thing! Who are thee to charge dictates as if thou were a prince?" 

            "Change it!" the vampire snapped, his temper unleashed into a daunting yell. But more than anything, the order had been a plea, and as Shakespeare looked upon the damned creature, he saw those saddened hazel eyes beg of him to write a story as the vampire had known, a story that would see no happy end because of the misfortunate choices that had been made in life. The fledgling of night had a countenance that drastically changed, from suave and sinister executor of hideous crimes to downtrodden and miserable sufferer of an evil master's afflictions, as if the vampire were no more than a Dark Angel mourning for a heaven it had once known. His face became more boyish than beastly, his aura more apologetic than callous. "Change it," he said again, this time in a whisper like words sewn together by a wisp of wind. 

            William could not bring his mouth to form speech, but at last, the saber he had so feverishly been clutching dropped to the floor with a ring of metal, and the young playwright found that he felt no need to retrieve it. There was no threat here. He received back his six pages of outline, eyes ever glued onto the vampire, and thought for a moment a dream had enslaved him. How surreal, that one of God's outcast should appear upon his doorstep and guide his writing! But was the nightly creature in fact in exile from paradise? For his manners seemed quite gentle and even repentant at times, and what a shame would it be should this mysterious immortal be wrongfully damned alongside those who really did deserve death. "Hast…hast thou enjoyed it thus far?" He didn't know why he was prompted to initiate conversation, but by the time he'd begun to contemplate such, the words had already been uttered.

            "Oh yes, very much so," replied the vampire. "Tybalt reminds me of my lord…Benvolio of myself…" Again, that strike of pain blatant across his face as he inwardly bewailed his manifold sins and wickedness. William almost believed the creature to have tears in his eyes, but perhaps it was only a hallucination, for those spawned from evil were incapable of tears, weren't they?

            "And what of the love between Romeo and Juliet? Too quick?" 

            "Most definitely not, fair Shakespeare. It only further elaborates what fools these mortals be! No offense, milord." 

            William shook his head, even laughing gently. "Oh no, none taken. Indeed, this night proves to me only further the peculiar effects of mead and ale on one's mental capabilities. Ay, a fine tale I shall have tomorrow eve, when I speak of devilish apparitions and none will there be to take belief in my professions." 

            "My sincerest apologies, then, that man has forsaken the wondrous possibilities of his dreams to become the puppet of a realistic cesspool." The vampire nodded at the young playwright, turned quickly on his heels, and began to show himself out the abode with hands clasped behind his back. His work here was finished. Shakespeare would undoubtedly alter the play's end, thus garnering success from actors and audience, and one vampire's grateful approval. 

            "Wait!" he heard William call out, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. "I haven't even a name by which to call thee."

            Hazel eyes void of life became soft in the blue light that shone in the parlour, and the dark creature's lips almost upturned into a smile. "Snitch," said he kindly. "They call me Snitch." And with that, he was off into the streets of London, hands tucked into the pockets of his breeches as he whistled a tune of love, loss, and the everlasting misery of which he'd always know. 

            While he ambled through the city, passing drunkards, prostitutes, and homeless children, he reflected to nearly two centuries earlier when the last Decadal Meeting of the Immortal Confederacy had taken place. After Spot's announcement of his uniting with Jack Kelly and Lord Combat Bailey, and halfblooded Runner Conlon's denying Spot's challenge and instead storming out the theatre after a brutal attack from his elder cousin, there was no more cooperation among the ageless. Brother had turned against brother, and the pillars of a foundation built to uphold everything virtuous and just had been torn down by the claws of the purebred, all morals and laws the flesh vampires had gnawed upon between their bloodied teeth. 

            Even allies had seen division. The halfblood's no longer had a leader, for Runner-both out of humiliation and fear-had sought solitude in the monastery of an undisclosed cathedral, wishing to no longer bear any affiliation with his demonic kindred. "Perhaps hiding behind the draperies of memories," said he once to Snitch, at a time when it hadn't mattered whether your sworn nemesis was, for the day, the closest companion you'd have for years, "will take me to another world. Perhaps disengaging myself from the bloodbath will lead the others to see the lack of purpose behind their atrocities." 

            How Snitch had longed to see truth in Runner's fallacious creed! If only life worked as so. If only immortals could indeed close their eyes and see evil pass away like an evanescent shadow, never to return and impose its ugly face onto the helpless. If only refusing to fight would make the war stop! How Snitch would denounce his vampiric nature and refrain from the lust of warm flesh and blood if it meant he wouldn't have to see another from his brood fall to ash. Sighing because he knew such things would never occur, he thought to hitch a ferry ride and sail for the undiscovered lands of the West, hoping to bury himself in a casket leagues underground where he knew sleep would ever drug him and horror never find him. 

            He began to sing a lament, then, his voice morose and without hope as his grief-stricken lyrics flew to the heavens like fallen angels attempting re-entrance into paradise only to be denied such access and sent back to the hellacious wasteland of the earth. 

            _And in the streets, the children screamed._

_            The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed._

_            But not a word was spoken,_

_            The church bells all were broken._

_            And the three men I admired most,_

_            The Father, Son, and The Holy Ghost,_

_            They caught the last ride for the coast…the day the music died…_

Snitch grimaced. Such cynical words…such true ones. He momentarily paused one last time to gaze upward at the constellations, before making his way to a new life. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

            _Salem__, __Massachusetts__; 1692._

Mayfly smiled brightly and pushed her spectacles further up the bridge of her nose as had become habit ever since she took up the 'studious' look, as she liked to call it. Under the bonnet she wore, her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, not a single strand astray, but such specificities ended there, for inside she was failing miserably at restraining her bout of laughter. At last, she gave in to her jollity and let loose a few delighted giggles. "Gypsy, you look like the headmistress of the school house! All you need is a few gray hairs and an apple. You already have the unfavorable personage!" 

            Leaning against the fence of a vacant cottage, Gypsy glared at the girl wordlessly, blue eyes blazing with controlled anger. She utterly despised the garments she was forced to don for this little rescue mission of which the halfbloods were about to take part. There was nothing adventurous in wearing ankle-length skirts, peasant blouses, and confounded bonnets! She would sooner burn them at a stake than see them upon her very body! "Hold your tongue," said she to Mayfly, "while you yet have a tongue to hold."

            But Mayfly went on, oblivious to the warning. Yards away stood Itey and Rebel, holding hands and whispering sweet nothings into one another's ears as they spoke of their engagement and the wondrous beauty their nearing matrimony would fulfill the day they were married. They'd been acquaintances for a century, friends for a few decades, and a couple for a length to rival the former two! Love had eventually intertwined itself into their relations, though, and now sat they on the brink of an execution, caressing and embracing lip to lip. 

            "I pray we'll be able to borrow a horse-drawn carriage," Rebel daydreamed, as she sat upon Itey's lap and wrapped his arms around her waist. "And we must be married in a country church…none of this cathedral nonsense. They were always too intimidating to me."

            He laughed softly at this. "Too intimidating?" He planted kisses as soft as a rose's petals onto her neck and then smelled the fragrance of her hair, taking in all of her should something go awry during the mission that awaited them. "Whether it be in simple cottage or classy accommodations, all I look forward to is having you as my wife."

            Hades was the misfortunate one to whom all the schmaltzy dialogue of hopeless lovers was being played on and on. She was lying on the grass within earshot of Rebel and Itey and appreciated nothing of their pitiful exchange. Love! A complete waste of energy as far as she was concerned. She rolled her eyes upon seeing the couple kiss, and tried to meditate upon other things. 

            Bumlets was preoccupied with his own relationship problems. It'd been two years, six months, and thirteen days since the fair lady Lyf had last written to him…he'd been counting every hour with the fervency of a passionate artist. In his hands he tightly clutched a silver locket of Elven make which inside bore the likeness of his beautiful maiden. But what had become of her? Had she returned to the realm of her people? Had she forgotten him…abandoned him? Had she perchance found love in the arms of another…in the arms of the First Seeker of the Zion Sect…River? He knew of River's feelings for the Elven maiden, but would Lyf accept a proposal to wedlock when she'd already given her heart to Bumlets?

            The halfblood felt need to weep. He wouldn't be surprised if the king of Naphthalene had forced his eldest daughter to choose a suitor already and be done with it. After all, Lyf had come of age long ago, and she hadn't the leverage to dally back and forth between princes willing to love and secure her, and halfbloods who weren't even of royal descent. He closed his eyes tight, ordering the tears to leave him to his own forms of grief. "Farewell, my love," he whispered. He looked once more at the locket in his hand, and then let the silver object fall to the ground below, to be forgotten. 

            Gypsy grew impatient, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. What was left of their brood had traveled to the America's in the mid 1600's in hopes of seeking a life more peaceful than the commercialism of a fastly growing European society. What they'd happened unto were Puritan towns, with fierce religious bigots who'd accuse one of devilry if you were caught showing illusionist tricks to youngsters. For the halfbloods, it'd definitely been a change in norms. 

            What had brought them to Salem this particular day, however, was quite contrary from anything _typical_. In a dream a fortnight ago, Gypsy had seen a vision in her dreams, a vision of false accusations and innocent young women being tried and found guilty of a witchery they'd never practiced. There were two individuals to be exact, and their auras had called out to the hybrid vampiress from that night on, as if begging the fellow immortal to save them from such cruel end. 

            And that's when it had dawned on Gypsy…_fellow immortals_…They weren't human at all! Of the immortal race, this magic the commoners confused for witchery was in fact an innate gift the two had been born with, and one of which they couldn't rid themselves. Apparently, the girls had grown careless in their practices, though, and an envious or bitter 'friend' had espied their deeds, deciding quite instantly to charge them of having signed the Devil's Book. Soon enough, this perpetrator had her comrades supporting the story as well, filling the town ministers with lies about having seen spirits of the dead accompany the pair and having been tortured by the voodoo performances of the confounded witches. 

            No longer able to bear the screaming pleads of the two who haunted her dreams, Gypsy had shared the foresight with her companions, and the brood had decided unanimously that it was naturally their duty to save those of their confederacy, though this confederacy had died centuries ago. "Can we go now!" she snapped to the others with hands on hips. "Two spellcasters are about to be hung and here we are lounging about like damned academicians. More action and less talk, guttersnipes. It's no wonder Runner abandoned us." 

            Bumlets was thoroughly offended by the comment. What did Gypsy know of Runner's reasons for leaving? Confound it, she was among those who constantly drove him mad with her complaints and her belaboring infantile matters so long as her opinion was ranked most imperative! "If you feel so highly about the situation," he said, trying to control the unrest in his voice, "why don't you take the initiative and lead? I'm tired of you laying onto the altar your supposed plans for victory and glory only to take a step down and watch someone else fail as a leader simply because you lack the courage to shepherd a flock yourself! This was your mission, _you_ take charge!"

            "That's quite fine with me! You are, after all, too consumed by the fading beauty of a princess to rationalize properly. With thoughts of Lyf on your mind, you'd probably lead us to the very gates of Hell! Wake up, wretched sewer rat; the Elven maid has left you for the First Seeker." 

            "You know nothing of love, blasted wench!" It had boomed from his lips like thunder, all the pain he'd felt from parting with Lyf building within him until it had accumulated into a mountain of destruction. The others had drawn close to the confrontation, watching Bumlets and Gypsy lash at each other with words that were as sharp as any Roman soldier's leather whip. 

            "I know far more than you would fathom, swine, but I haven't the heart to share."

            "A heart! Ha, now there's a paradox to rival all others! Are you sure it isn't a rock of ice housed within your ribcage?" 

            "Were it, I would gamble my immortality that this rock, as you call it, would be a hundredfold less dense than you!"

            Bumlets smiled sardonically. "And who are you to compare geniuses, milady? One must have a mind of her own first before having the capability to judge others." 

            "Oh I assure you, star-crossed lover, I indeed have a mind. I suppose you being unable to recognize that further illustrates your idiocy and furthers my merit." She curtsied with the utmost sarcasm, her mane of hair cascading past her shoulders in tresses darker than her feelings toward him. 

            Mayfly came between them, then, as she had grown exhausted by the needless repartee and was quite sure the others had as well. "As much as I'd love to entertain this circus sideshow you've both begun," said she, with the hint of a smirk on her face, "I feel it imperative that we focus our attentions on two specific spellcasters…?" 

            "Yes, of course," Hades offered, though her tone quite closely bordered nonchalance. She leaned her frame against the carriage upon which the halfbloods had traveled for miles simply to fulfill this would-be self-appointed quest and yawned lazily. "Preferably, I'd like to leave Salem by nightfall if that's well taken with the lot of you."

            "Where has your humor escaped to, friend!" Mayfly called out playfully, performing a jig for no apparent reason other than to make a fool of herself if only to invoke laughter in the others. Yet her usually comedic actions weren't found humorous by her comrades this time around, for the tension between Gypsy and Bumlets was far too strong. She shrugged it off easily, not bothered by their lack of enthusiasm, and instead decided to tune her senses into the happenings of the town. 

            It wasn't a minute's time before her heart skipped a beat in anticipation, her first alarm that something was going unplanned within the parameters of the village. It excited her more than worried her, though, and she pressed her ear against the wooden doors standing between herself and the town; Salem had very much locked out any outsiders, choosing rather to build a wall around itself which it hoped none could penetrate. "Does anyone else hear that?" she asked of her comrades. "It's the sound of…"

            "…racing horses," Hades finished, her forehead furrowed in confusion. The noises were growing louder as they approached the doors to the town; it was like the reverberating thud of a stampede on the move, followed by screams of anguish and the shouts of men who wanted to see justice done. "Mayfly, jump back!"

            And no sooner had Mayfly done as was bid her, the wooden doors barged open as if a great flood gushed out the village, two horses and their riders dashing away like arrows released from an urgent archer's bow. Yards away, an angry mob could be seen in the distance, holding scythes, pitchforks, and torches of flames. Gypsy's first instinct was to slam the doors back shut, and this she did with an astounding speed that would make one think she'd flown on angel's feet. Then, she turned back to the others. "We must follow the ones who fled!"

            The halfbloods didn't need further explanation. Within an instant, they'd loaded onto the carriage, Bumlet's urging their Clydesdale horse on to its maximum speed. They'd lost the crowd in an hour's time, and this gave them much to be proud about, at least on Mayfly's part, who began to sing songs of victory and prosperity while waving a decanter of apple juice in the air. "Well, the supposed witches obviously made their own great escape. Why must we follow after like cat and mouse? Let's return up north; it was rather pleasant there."

            "Swallow a bone, Mayfly, and rid us of your stupidity." Gypsy didn't even look at the girl when delivering the order, making Mayfly feel ten times more obliged to break her decanter to shards upon the bitter one's head, but she crossed her arms and pouted nonetheless, wishing for happier times when Runner was leader and not some totalitarian dictator who outlawed optimism every five minutes of the day. 

            At dusk, the halfbloods reached a clearing in the forest through which they'd been traveling and finally caught up with the two horses and the riders they'd been tracking for hours now. They were obviously women, as was evident through the styles of their maiden cloaks. Two sat by a fire; the third tended to the horses. 

            One with shoulder-length curly brown hair stretched her hands out to the fire and sighed in content as the red dancing flames warmed her. The other female was relaxed against the trunk of a tree, a blade of grass between her lips, and her eyes distant as if in deep thought. "Will you not greet us?" the latter asked of the halfbloods (who thought they'd hidden themselves from sight quite well). 

            "I told you it wouldn't work," Bumlets hissed at Gypsy.

            Gypsy only rolled her eyes and came forth from the shrubbery behind which she'd been taking cover. "We weren't aware that you'd like to be greeted. My name is Gypsy and these are my kindred. We're hybrid vampires, but you've nothing to fear from us. We don't prey on blood as our counterparts do. We came to Salem to save you and your friends, but as is blatant, you three were quite capable of saving yourselves."

            The second girl again spoke. "Quite on the contrary, vampiress. My friend, Spritzer, and I didn't save ourselves. Rather it was the kindness of this maiden here," she nodded toward the young woman feeding the horses, "who set us free from the shackles of our oppressors."

            "Then we should very much like to meet her!" exclaimed a grinning Mayfly, pushing past the crowd to confront this mysterious heroine. She rubbed her hands together briskly and approached the one in question. "Good day," said she. "Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on successfully undermining the mortals."

            The maiden kept her back turned to the others, still focused on the horses. "Oh, 'twas nothing."

             Spritzer smiled warmly at this. "Or so she would have you believe," she explained to the halfbloods. "But if it weren't for this brave lady, Chipper and I would've been doomed to strangle to death before a mocking crowd." Her eyes saddened ever so slightly, but returned to their grateful state.

            Chipper nodded. "Ay, but she's of humble character. Bless her heart." 

            "I'm touched by the act," Gypsy said, of course not meaning a single word. She was actually quite upset that glory had been stolen from her. It was she, after all, who was supposed to have saved the spellcasters from their untimely death! How her plans had been ruined! She stepped up to the young lady, whose back was still to her. "It was a fine deed you executed earlier. Will you not let me behold the face of such a noble achiever?"

            There was a moment of silence on the heroine's part, which was in turn shattered by a most delighted laughter. The young lady did in fact turn around, drawing back the hood of her cloak as she did so, a devious smirk on her lips. "Why, fair tidings, Gypsy. Never did I think we'd meet again."

            The halfblood was aghast. "This is no maiden!" Gypsy exclaimed, jaw dropped in disgust and shock. "This is a damned whore! Kitten, you foul intemperate beast…who's been under your skirt as of late?"

            "Unfortunately, none," answered the other with smooth calmness. "I've actually renounced my prostitution among the purebred and aristocracy…fornication no longer has the melody it once did." She shrugged as if discussing no more than a conversion from flavors of ice cream and then sighed. "But thank you for praising my deeds, Gypsy. It means the underworld to me. But alas, where's my darling Runner Conlon? Have you driven him away with your carping?"

            "Hardly…his cousin has driven him away. But you should know of such; you_ were_ Spot's whore, were you not?" 

            Kitten only smiled. "I've had a rendezvous or two with the brat, but never an attachment have I forced myself to make with him. His spirit is unruly, his temper most outlandish. And as truthful to Runner as I've always been, my once friend, you were quite mistaken in having accused me of espionage back at the last Decadal Meeting, for my allegiance lies with the halfbloods, as it always will."

            Gypsy could only stare at her in return. 

~*~*~*~*~*~


	6. Late Night Excorcisms

DISCLAIMER: Oh for God's sake, I don't own the newsies! Let's make this easy, though. I only own Runner Conlon, Morning Dew, River, Malakai, Micah, Jeshua, Ahdi, Neeko, and Father Romanik. ^_^ Newsies are owned by Disney; everyone else owns themselves. Oh, and the song lyrics featured in some chapters don't belong to me but rather are the property of various artists. 

**A.N:** IMPORTANT! Please read! Especially the first two notes. 

*This is the last chapter in the pre-1900 eras! No more going centuries back in time. *frowns* Ah well, there's always flashbacks. Also, the premise of this story has somewhat been changed. Still the same _basic_ storyline, but some more pertinent issues will be thrown in to make it more significant and thus prompt my will to write it, lol.  

*Also, I'm going to start re-arranging the major/minor roles of the characters based on who's actually reading the story, lol. I just don't think it's fair to those who faithfully review to be reading about the characters of those who don't all the time. ^_^ w00t w00t! Thanks to everyone who _is_ reviewing, though. *huggles* I love you all! ^_^  So based on who reviews this chapter, and who's been reviewing most devoutly since EA first came out, I'll make some adjustments to better accommodate the faithful, hehe. 

*The lyrics in this chapter are from "Holy" by Nichole Nordeman. Great song! Download it! 

*Skittery and Pie-Eater have switched roles in the story. The former boy will play the part of the demon, whereas the latter will now be the revolutionary from the 1900's. 

            **Sapphy: **Ah yes, the tragedy that is Bumlet's and Lyf's relationship. Don't worry, though, we'll have more of them eventually. And guess what! Your role doth approach! Ha, excuse the Elizabethan English. *grins* But anyway, since this is the last chapter that is pre-1900's, you'll be featured more in the chapters to come, being a mortal and all. Thanks thanks thanks! 

            **Ember: **Here's another update coming your way. I'm glad you're liking the story so far. ^_^ You and Mush as angels will be making an appearance soon, don't worry. Sorry to keep you waiting so long, though. I just had to write out the background story first, haha. 

            **Fantasy: **Ah, glad to see my knowledge of Shakespeare wasn't flawed, hehe. I actually had to do some research for that certain scene, just to get a good idea of what the master playwright was up to during that year. *grins* Anywho, thanks so much for reading my stories and reviewing! I love faithful readers! *huggles*

            **Goldstranger: **Yea, the Huge jump in time last chapter wasn't really supposed to happen; I think I had originally planned to have a middle scene or something but I was hurrying to get the chapter out to everyone. ^_^ In any case, after this chapter, the year is pretty much set in stone for the rest of the story, hehe. Thanks so much for you review! Hope you like this chapter!

            **Dreamer: **Haha, I was a bit hesitant about the whole Shakespeare changing the ending of _Romeo and Juliet_ because of Snitch but then I thought it was a pretty good idea. After all, you just can't resist Snitch! He's so adorable and repentant. *grins*

            **Sita: **You flatter me, Sita-beans darling sweetheart! But I'm uber glad you're loving the story. You're like, one of my biggest fan and I'm still dazed by me even having fans in the first place! Hahaha. By the way, reading _Angelsight _inspired me to start this baby up again. *grins*

            **Raven: **Raven! I have to introduce your character into this story soon! ^_^ Thanks so much for loving _EA_, but I assure you I'm no literary genius. **: P **In any case, here's another chapter for you, love! Enjoy!

            **Lute: **I was writing the last chapter and thinking to myself, 'I bet Lute will like this scene'. lol. I'm glad you noted the quote from _Midsummer_: "what fools these mortals be!" Ha, I love Puck. But anyway, just so you know, your character will be entering this story soon enough. Maybe even next chapter! Thanks for the reviews!

            **Geometrygal: **Aw, your reviews are always filled with nice compliments. *smiles gratefully* Thanks so much for the kind words! They really make my day and I'm glad you enjoy my writing so much. Enjoy this chapter!

            **Cici: **Heya! I was thinking about our RP today, hehe. I think I may use some of the ideas in _River_. Especially the conflicts between Spot and Dewey. W00t w00t! I'm _still_ waiting for an update for your story. . But don't worry, I'll wait. *grins*

            **Chipper: **YaY! I finally got your character written in last chapter. That was like, my major accomplishment of the last chapter, lol, introducing new characters. In answer to your question, I _don't_ write professionally, lol. It's just a hobby for me. But I would like to be a novelist someday. ^_^

            **Lyf: **I'm writing, I'm writing! *grins* Wow, you seem addicted to this story. Hehe, just kidding. But I'm glad you like it so much! The elves should be re-appearing within a few chapters so your character will be coming back again. Thanks for the reviews, darling! Hope you like this chapter!

            **Matches: **'Ello, love! Just so you know, you and your friends will finally come into the story next chapter! **: D**

**_~*ETERNAL AVENGER*~_**

_Chapter Five: A Ghastly Reminder_

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

            _Somewhere in __Eastern Europe__; 1792_

            _How many deaths did I die before I was awakened to new life again? How many half-truths did I bear witness to 'til the proof was disproved in the end? And how long, how far? What was meant to allude only shadowed me still. And all you ever wanted was only me, on my knees, singing 'holy'… _

            "Your lover is a coward."

            "And you the spineless sycophant of a Dark Prince."

            He hissed at her and then masked his lips with a most detestable smirk, tall frame seconds earlier rigid now relaxed as he calmed every last muscle in his mortal incarnation, ripples expanding along his flesh as the skin momentarily shuddered and then drew tightly back around his bones, like a blanket of wax laid upon a burning entity. "He won't withstand the temptation, you know. The wraiths of his past are far too many."

            "You obviously know nothing of Runner Conlon." She wasn't deterred in the least by his negative perspective no more than she was by the monstrous countenance he then took upon himself, as if he truly believed staring into the blister-marred face of hell's own would wake in her heart a primeval fear of the 'living dead'. Then again, he was neither living _nor_ dead, but an ill-fated spirit ever to wander aimlessly throughout the barren wasteland of damned immortality. And she knew this well. 

            "Oh, I know plenty, riverland nymph. Volumes more than I would care to quite frankly." He cast away his demonic fascia and switched back into the manifestation of a young man. "I like this appearance far better. It's rather handsome, wouldn't you agree?" He came to a halt on their tread through the cemetery and looked at her, thin lips lengthened into a grin and eyes a darker shade of brown than the dirt covering the decaying carcasses under their feet. 

            She glanced at him no longer than three seconds before continuing through the mist-laden shrubbery at the middle of which they were entrenched. Under the lavender moon, her eyes sparked with the finest hue of gold, her hair a wild mass of curls under the hood of the cloak she bore. "No less sickening than your sullied heart, I'd venture to say." 

            "Morning Dew, your words are much too harsh!"

            "And your intentions the very venom from which they spring."

            She at last terminated her march when they happened unto a mausoleum of imperial structure, its stone door slid fully open and the tomb within, festering with cockroaches and rabid mice, void of a corpse.  Her face lacked the shock it would've otherwise entertained had she not been in this ghastly business for the better part of her immortality. Bringing forth a polished stone she'd been holding tightly in her palm, she opened her fingers slowly and let the blue light radiating from the rock wash its luminosity upon the cracked walls of the burial chamber, exposing the blemishes of its constructors. 

            Aside her, the demon sneered. "My lord has resurrected this particular body to speak a language long dead." He watched the girl carefully, and then looked past her toward the entrance to the mausoleum where a famine-stricken woman covered in puss-smeared decomposing rags staggered forth, insects slithering across her tarnished flesh and pupils large with an unworldly possession. The runes of an archaic tongue were etched across her forehead by what Dewey assumed to be a dagger's means, for the profuse outpouring of blood from the wounds was not the work of a mere scratch, and as the girl beheld this hellish transfiguration, she couldn't help but back away with a gasp, her fingers instantly reaching for the large cross about her neck. 

            The would-be corpse of the woman held out her arms, the skin steadily peeling from her limbs to expose bloody bones and deteriorated muscle tissue. "You have failed, young exorcist," spoke the possessed in a dialect born from the vernacular of Ancient Egypt. "Come, be one with me." She took a step forward as a shrieking laughter emanated from her scalded lips. 

            The demon who had joined Dewey on this vain mission lounged against a stone wall and spectated with delight. "I don't believe that cross is big enough to rid you of such a beast as the one now pursuing you," he laughed.

            "Woe to you, Skittery," the girl replied easily, gathering her courage and strength once more as to not appear daunted by this new feat, "for it is not an _object_ from Whom I draw such powers." And then she gave the haunted woman a fierce look born from her rage and uttered in the Egyptian tongue of old, "In the name of God, in the name of the Lord, I order you back to the very gates of Hell!" Seeing her foe waver in the slightest brought a string of hope to her soul, and thus she proceeded on, repeating the words continuously and implying various other languages as well should the demon play on its foolhardiness. In Gaelic she screamed the demand…in Aramaic, Latin, and any other translation that befell her expeditious musings, she screeched the syllables and fully expected favorable results. 

            Her expectations were met. The ribcage of the walking corpse suddenly collapsed inward, the bones within snapping like sapling branches, and from the shredded flesh of the woman sprung a horrid grey beast that crashed to the ground in a ball of scales, hissing most irritably at the prospect that there were yet orders to which it _had_ to succumb. Flapping its torn wings, it snarled once at Dewey and then dove into the cement ground screaming profane curses as it furrowed a tunnel deep into the earth to return to its damned home. The corpse it had occupied crumpled into its rightful tomb, and returned to the rest of the dead. 

            Dewey heaved a sigh of relief and wiped the beads of perspiration from her forehead. "Counter that, swine." She smirked at Skittery in accomplishment and exited out the mausoleum's passageway, her soul fatigued by the spiritual warfare. The night air was stagnant but far more pleasing than the atmosphere of a vault touched by hell, and she breathed in its manure-scent with a yearning to return to the motherlands of the Irish, where she'd been born. 

            "Let's hope your lover mirrors your same fortitude, milady," was his only reply, as he crossed his arms and stared at her with sheer hatred. "You know not what he goes through. Spot has taken him to the caverns of the undead, where his nightmarish memories will at long last come to life."

            "I know of his nightmares, bloody guttersnipe. You've yet to enlighten me."

            He drew closer to her, beaming with malevolent pleasure. "Oh? Then you're acquainted with the incest he bred on the bed sheets of the Conlon Dynasty, succumbing to the desires of not only his bloodlust, but a drive for abomination as well. Your dear Runner wasn't always as sanctified as he's turned out to be. On the contrary! He was a libertine debauchee who would with wanton desire watch the immoral acts of his older cousin, and wakened to a life that slew integrity with the dagger of the damned, became unrestrained in all things. 

            "More callous and volatile than _Spot_ was he once! He massacred not for need or honor, but for the reeking pleasure of clutching a dying mortal with his indifferent arms. His hot-temper and indecorous deeds eventually exiled him from his very family, and driven by a sense of betrayal and murderous frenzy, he headed a bestial revolutionary brigade that saw to the assassination of his own father. Spot was intrigued by his cousin's lascivious behaviour and began to foster it, filling the boy's mind with a wickedness born from the underworld. In the year 1388, on his twenty-first birthday, he drank from the toxic wine that would cause his body's aging to expire. 

            As a gift, he received from Spot a band of concubines, not all from the female gender either. The two cousins shared in the mirth and in drunken carousal, excessively indulged themselves with cursed acts, the flesh of their bodies joined in a way that birthed the madness of their namesake. The next morning, half the whores strewn across their camp in a pool of blood, Runner on his lonesome climbed a nearby mountain to gaze at the sunrise as he daily did. You know well he's only half demon kind and thus isn't fazed by the light of the Great Star; though his father was a vampiric sire, his mother was a deranged harlot from the filth of man. 

            Spot wasn't in his company, as the elder had long vanished to save his hide from the sun's bitterness, and lacking the evil beckoning of his brethren, Runner was for once left to his own peace and contemplation. It was then that he met a priest, the man who would show Runner what he had become and how it had made the Lord weep."

            Dewey's eyes widened at the vivid relay of information. Though she so wanted to deem it all fallacious, she knew the demon spoke truth. "Father Romanik," she whispered, finally able to connect the jagged pieces of this confounded puzzle together. "It was through Romanik that Runner and I first met. I remember Runner was always so distant back then, his eyes always shifting nervously as if searching for something they had long ago lost…"

            "Purity, perhaps," replied Skittery, before going on with the tale. "He'd been led to believe he could never again reclaim it, and so with a twisted mindset, it only caused him to delve deeper and deeper into defilement. Father Romanik told him otherwise, and when he learned of a rank he might undertake in place of his adulteration, he was both curious and elated. He forsook the ways of the Conlon Dynasty after only a morning-long talk with the mysterious man, and thereafter he learned the trade of exorcism. Disgusted by the besmirched trail of grime which he left behind, he vowed to never again become a slave to the devil's works and now tries to redeem himself in the sight of God by ridding the world of malice." 

            She swallowed hard as to prevent the tears from cascading down her face, shattered by the reality Runner had for centuries kept from her. She parted her lips to speak, but only a heart-broken whimper sounded, and wishing the demon to not know of her pains, she covered her mouth with a hand and turned away from him. Skittery stepped forward, almost as if to comfort her, but suddenly a thunderous boom tore throughout the cemetery like the bellow of a gargantuan beast, the lands shaking vigorously and ripping apart where some patches were dead of greenery. Thunder rolled in the distance like colossal stones clashing against one another, and before the pair there opened up in midair a vortex, edges undulating with electricity. 

            A young man was shoved through the vortex harshly and fell onto the lands just as his mode of transportation burst into oblivion and became no more. The cemetery ceased in its shaking, and the wind was once more still. The young man climbed to his feet with much difficulty and showed himself to be Runner, face masked with ions of pain as was evident through the hot tears his glistening eyes shed. 

            With gaping mouth, Skittery stepped toward his adversary in awe. "You…you withstood the temptation?" It was an inconceivable achievement! Spot, Jack, and their unruly band of mentally diseased vampires had been adamant in their avowals to bring about the fall of the younger Conlon, and yet…they had _failed_? 

            Runner nodded several times, losing count at some point or another, and seized Dewey's hand in a blatant hurry to leave the dreaded location of his final test behind. Yanking her on, they hurried through the shrubbery until well on their way down the cobblestone streets nearby where a distant horse-coach offered the only noise to preoccupy their minds. 

            After some time, Dewey could stand the silence no longer. "Skittery told me everything, Runner. About your past."

            He glanced at her in sheer bewilderment and made an action as if to defend himself, but realizing it was quite in vain seeing how all was true, he retreated back behind his guards and shoved his hands down the pockets of his trench coat self-consciously. It was bad enough knowing first hand the madness he had birthed in his youth…but for his love to know of them as well? 

            "Runner, why didn't you tell me?"

            "Sincerely?" He stopped in his tracks and regarded her with a solemn disposition. "Because you would've surely despised me. You were born of the church, and I without. I was everything you were raised to deem an abomination, and I was afraid that sharing my past with you would only serve to keep you away…" Sighing, he diverted his gaze to the ground. "I understand if you want nothing to do with…"

            She quite surprised him when she playfully smacked the side of his head and laughed. "You are an idiot, milord. But I wouldn't have it any other way." With a grin, she grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him hard; it was her way of showing him no barrier born of earth or hell would ever separate them. "Now what shall we do now that you've passed your test?"

            He sighed again, a chill running down his spine at her words. The test. So simple it was to let the words roll of one's tongue, but to actually live through it…to vehemently declare to the very face of the dragon that you would no longer be its puppet… "I'm going to reestablish the Immortal Confederacy. I plan to gather the half-bloods together once and for all; wherever Bumlets has led them I must go, encourage them to join my cause. And Kitten, with her spell-casters and half-blood slaves, I'll be needing them as well. The pirates who drank of the fountain of youth will be very much resourceful to me. But we'll need more. 

            "Dewey, you must get back in touch with the other elementals, and it's of the utmost necessity that we gather the Seekers of the Zion Sect, as we will be traveling to the New World recently established out west to start life anew. There's revolutionaries out there seeking change, and we shall give it to them. Aside from this, the Healers of old must be contacted; I'm in dire need of their assistance…"

            They continued down the street discussing these imperative matters. The dawn of a New Age was breaking. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Review! ^_^

            __

 


	7. Temptations

DISCLAIMER: Oh for God's sake, I don't own the newsies! Let's make this easy, though. I only own Runner Conlon, Morning Dew, River, Malakai, Micah, Jeshua, Ahdi, Neeko, and Father Romanik. ^_^ Newsies are owned by Disney; everyone else owns themselves. Oh, and the song lyrics featured in some chapters don't belong to me but rather are the property of various artists. 

**A.N:** Ah, over 20 reviews for the last chapter! *SQUEALS* THANK YOU SO MUCH! I hope you all are enjoying this story as much as you say you are, haha, because then I'd be the happiest little writer in the world! Here's a short chapter for you; do enjoy it! Shout-out's next chapter, kay? Thanks again! *HUGGLES EVERYONE*

**_~*ETERNAL AVENGER*~_**

_Chapter Six: Temptations_

* * * * * * * * * * * * *   

            _New York; 1900_

            _I've seen a rainbow yesterday, but too many storms have come and gone, leaving a trace of not one God-given ray. Is it because my life is ten shades of gray? I pray all ten fade away; seldom praise Him for the sunny days. And like His promise is true, only my faith can undo, the many chances I blew when I bring my life to anew. Clear blue and unconditional skies have dried the tears from my eyes, no more lonely cries…_

The bordello nestled comfortably in the heart of Harlem upon its landfill of decadence and defilement, this particular night, stunk of mortal flesh drenched in sweat and other sickening bodily fluids which were smeared across the floors of the darkened five-cent rooms as if the waste had been made a deity for worship. Walls no more sturdier than the back of a spent horse quaked violently to accompany the screams of those indulging in fornication between the poorly-built structures, and chips of plaster from the decaying ceilings always seemed to break off when the occupants above became rowdier than expected. 

            And yet, amidst the chaos of the impure mortals, Spot Conlon lounged back on the mattress where his chosen whore spent most her days and stared at the opposing wall rather intently, his mind in another world. The woman paid to entertain him wore nothing but the black-laced stockings pulled up to mid-thigh, and of course the excessive rouge and make-up blotched across her face as if she were some wretched circus caricature to dance before her customers in clean merriment. She crawled halfway across the bed and cocked her head to one side with a smirk, before speaking in a terribly feigned husky voice. 

            "Is all well, sex god?" she asked before a bout of giggles, during which she drew nearer to him and traced her painted nails down the bare flesh of his chest. 

            Spot snatched her hand with flashing eyes and placed it back onto the mattress, wordlessly telling her to leave him alone lest she desired to be inappropriately dealt with. There were far more pressing matters bothering him presently than the whining of a diseased harlot; she hadn't even been that pleasurable to him. He was gravely considering this move to the New World to be a mindless gambit on his part. The cities of this confounded state were more depraved than half the vampires in his brood, and it was hardly enjoyable to corrupt something already gone spoiled.  

            The whore pouted childishly and threw herself onto her back like a toy doll to be manipulated as he wished, her arms and legs sprawled about as if lifeless. "You always go well into the early morning, and this evening you've stopped at midnight. Does something bother you?"

            "Only your incessant carping," he retorted, aware she wouldn't understand half his words. Quite out of nowhere, though, he smirked at her devilishly, sapphire irises sweltering like heat waves along a lake's surface. His sandy locks flopped across his forehead in such a way that made him look no more than nineteen years, when in fact he was almost a thousand times that, and straightening himself up against the beaten headboard of the bed, he presented her with a proposal. "How about we play a little game?"

            "Oh?" She, too, sat up and flashed him an intrigued smile. "What kind of game?"

            Spot's smirk grew more sinister in nature as he pushed himself off the headboard and started to crawl toward the woman like a wildcat stalking prey. He ravenously licked his lips, his shoulders arching up and down as he progressed on his way. "What if I pretended to be a vampire, and you were the beautiful damsel whose blood I lusted for?" When within reach, he seized her arm suddenly, making her gasp, but only did so much as brush pale lips against her wrist. 

            "That's the most bizarre role-playing a man has ever suggested to me…"

            "Think of the pleasure it would give the both of us," he whispered melodically, his lips traveling up her arm, across her shoulder, and to the fragile skin of her neck, where he lightly sucked on the area behind which stretched a vein. He parted his lips slightly, the ends of his pointed incisors about to poke the flesh when suddenly the door to the room slammed open and in hurried none other than Darien Bailey, breath coming out in light pants to give off the facade of his having been in a supposed hurry when immortals everywhere knew vampires needed not breathe to survive. 

            Spot lightly growled at the intrusion like a beast defending its respective meal, but pulled away from the whore nonetheless and resumed his position against the headboard to hear whatever it was his ally apparently needed to say. Darien looked at the naked woman with raised eyebrows, quite pleased with the curvaceous figure and already calculating what misery he'd put her through if ever she was in his bed, and cleared his throat. When she didn't respond, he impatiently rolled his eyes and asked her to leave. She, in turn, looked to her current master for permission, and when Spot acquiesced with a nod, she angrily grabbed her robe and marched out the room. 

            "I would commend your superior mastering of the female gender, but other priorities enslave me." Darien rubbed his hands together briskly and grinned. "So where is he? Where is the infamous Runner Conlon, hmm? So anxiously have I waited for his return to your dynasty." He knew of Spot and Jack's plans to contaminate the mind of their young brethren over a century ago, but too busy with managing his own brood and ridding it of internal anarchy, he hadn't quite caught up with current news from his allies as of yet. Until this night, of course. 

            "He passed the test," the other replied simply. 

            Darien's jaw slackened for a second before he gathered his bearings and started to respond, but words too early spoken seemed worthless at that moment, and he instead could only stare at Spot in disbelief for what seemed ages. "He **_what!_**" 

            "The confounded brat is obviously of more strength than I presumed," came Spot's nonchalant reply as he lazily yawned and examined his glassy fingernails. "The test was flawless; everything about it could've shattered the most devout of holy men. But he, in whatever cursed way, triumphed in the end. Needless to say, it's time we take the enemy more seriously."

            "But I don't understand! I was relatively sure he'd fall to his knees like a child and beg for right of entry back into our alliance! What could've possibly gone wrong?" He crossed his arms, lost in a deep contemplation, and leaned against the shaky walls of the quarters. "What did the test consist of?"

            Spot's eyes grazed across the patterns of the ceiling as if trying to recollect the memories, but in truth, he vividly remembered the events of that night as if they daily played out before his feet. "The first stage was meant to weaken him with anguish…"

            _1792_

_            Spot cackled as he trotted down the pathway of mortal skulls, each in alternating moments turning to look up at those who indifferently tread upon them, screaming obscenities at Runner while he tried to hurry across their path. It became increasingly difficult, however, for the skulls would shift this way and that in callous laughter, jaws dislocating to shriek out curses or belittlement, eye sockets discharging excrement-based ooze. The younger Conlon hopped from one to another with arms held out horizontally for balance, and just as he was to reach safe lands, a skull rotated and caused the young man to slip and tumble down the muddied slope into a lake below. _

_            Crashing into the foul water, he finally surfaced moments later gasping for breath, the darkness and sense of loneliness weighing heavily upon his shoulders. Spot stood at the shores with a light smirk, and nodded toward something his cousin had yet to see. Runner, shivering as if stricken with pneumonia, turned slowly around to behold this new obstacle. His face instantly paled. _

_            "Da…" It was his father! The man he would affectionately call 'da' in his natural Irish dialect, until vampiric mannerisms had migrated into his heart and all sense of family relations had been lost. The feeble old man trudged through the grime of the waters, holding his guillotined head in his arms, for decapitation was the method Runner had demanded for his father's assassination. The once vampire reached out to the boy as if to welcome him to a fate they'd share for eternity, but Runner backed away with a scream and lost all consciousness before he could consent to such madness. _

            Darien held out his hands as if the answer had been there all along. "Well then that's it! If he wasn't strong enough to withstand the ghost of his father, then he succumbed, am I mistaken?"

            "Unfortunately, you are," said the other. "He was supposed to have accepted the invitation his father offered. Burdened by remorse for having murdered the man, he was supposed to have felt as if all repentance was lost and therefore give in to damnation. But it was his _grief_ that made him pass out, not a compliance with our rules…" He sighed heavily and continued. "Then there was the second stage…bloodlust…"

            _1792_

_            Spot carried his cousin's unconscious and soaked body into a chamber within his estate, depositing the boy onto a richly-upholstered chair and waiting most tolerantly until his brethren came to. Runner's mind was buzzing like the interior of a grandfather's clock that had just struck the hour, and as he at long last sat up from his recent slumber, he clammed shaking hands over his ears and winced at the excruciating pain. The memories came back to him, then. The exile, the rebellion…his father's murder. He gasped sharply and came to full attention upon realizing he'd just seen the man's ghost, and then looked across the room to find himself being scrutinized by his elder cousin.       _

_            "Bravo," Spot replied with a smirk, clapping wholeheartedly. "That was most impressive, cousin. You deserve to be nourished like royalty after such an accomplishment." He gestured to a golden tray laid upon the table aside Runner's chair whereupon sat a glass of red wine, some cheese, and a bowl of assorted fruits. "Take, eat, enjoy!"_

_            Runner took the glass warily, alarmed by Spot's philanthropic demeanor. But extreme thirst alarmed him more and he downed the crimson liquid in seconds. It wasn't until he swallowed the first drops that he came to wonder upon the wine's warmth, and then noting how his senses perked and heart palpitated  upon drinking, he suddenly realized what it was he devoured and spat it out as if it were venom, wiping his lips clean of the elixir and dropping the glass to the floor. "Blood!"_

_            He clutched the fabric of the chair as his pulse increased drastically, senses sharpening into a state of sheer ecstasy. He'd forgotten how drugged the blood could make him and how one scarlet drop could enslave him for decades. Spot arose to his feet and approached the boy, picking up one of the glass shards from the floor and bringing its jagged edge to his wrist. With a swift cut, he opened a wound seeping with blood and held it out to his cousin most benevolently. "Take but one swig of it, Runner. You need it, you can't deny that fact."_

_            Runner opened his mouth further, his entire body shuddering at the prospect, and raised his upper lip just high enough to bare those cursed fangs he'd long ago denied. But as Spot came closer, flashes from his horrid past and the future promised him should he reject such evils bombarded his thoughts, surging through his mind like a ray of electricity that made him yell out in pain. He grabbed the sides of his head and wept, shaking away the scent of the blood, the drive for the drinking, and the underlying schemes of his vampiric kindred. _

            "And so, as you can presuppose, he passed that one as well." 

            "How unfathomable. I admire the mongrel more and more each day." Darien stroked his chin thoughtfully and further sagged against the wall while he listened to Spot's recitation. 

            "After his preceding successes, I was naturally enraged, but found some comfort in the frames of his final temptation."

            "Which was?"

            Spot smirked. "Me." 

            _1792_

_            Spot strolled down the corridors of the mansion with hands clasped behind his back as he gave Runner the grand tour of their renovated estate. Hundreds of acres were its backyard, and towering heights the proportions its walls took upon. "Quite lovely, wouldn't you concur? How I've longed for your return, Runner. The nights aren't nearly as warm as they once were…" He turned around and smirked meaningfully at his cousin._

_            Runner's heart sank; he instantly knew what the final test would be and utterly dreaded it. He knew these endeavors were not required of him. He knew Father Romanik wouldn't condemn him to hell for not accepting the challenge, but he wanted to prove to Spot and his blasted allies once and for all that he would never again yield to their malice and deceit. When Spot had presented the 'game' years ago, the younger Conlon was yet weary…but he knew he'd eventually have to face his demons at some point or another, and such a time would be this night. _

_            "You look fatigued, cousin," Spot went on, "shall I show you to your quarters?" He didn't wait for a reply. He furthered down the halls and swung open the double doors of a grand suite, decorated just as it had been during Runner's youth. "We've had some things refurnished, of course, but aside from that everything's just as it was when you were our prince." _

_            "Just as it was," Runner repeated in a whisper, sliding his fingers across the polished oak of a vanity. His pulse quickened when he felt Spot place a hand on his shoulders and slowly turn him around so that the two were eye to eye. Surely he'd fail this temptation as he had countless times when he was the ruthless brat of the estate. Surely he'd snap under the beauty of his cousin as he had back in the days when watching quite jealously the way Spot treated his whores…wishing for once he could…_

_            He stepped back against the vanity, heart beating wildly within his chest, and shook his head vehemently. "It won't work. I've washed my hands of your puppetry. I no longer belong to you, Aiden."_

_            "You're gravely mistaken, Lucas," the elder whispered ever so delicately, coming closer until their faces were mere inches apart. "You were my slave the day you were born." Reaching out a hand to caress the boy's face, his tone was softer than a summer breeze but with a sting that could've rivaled any cobra's venomous bite. "Don't you recall, cousin? You were _my _whore whenever I bid you be my bedfellow, and it will be as so until your rancid flesh is spent by my doing. Your aura reeks of desire…"_

Darien hung onto every word, both shocked and delighted by this third method. Surely Runner had to have succumbed to the elder Conlon's sex appeal; there were few of the vampiric race who could resist it! "And? What happened next?" 

            Spot appeared to be lost as his eyes switched back and forth. "The damned deuce began to pray! I was so appalled by the holy words that I simply had to shove him away from me!"

            "He resulted to his faith…what a scandal! We must immediately look into the power of prayer, comrade. Perhaps therein lays a great weapon we might learn to counter."

            "In any case, I opened up a vortex and threw him into the cemetery where his confounded lover awaited him. Needless to say, she also defeated her foe." He rested back against the headboard and shook his head angrily. 

            Darien gaped at him. "A _lover?_ You didn't tell me our precious nemesis was happily fallen into love." When the other shrugged, he only laughed victoriously, clapped his hands together as if the war had already turned in his favor, and closed the distance between them in effortless strides. "You're quite the idiot, Conlon!" When Spot opened his mouth to protest, Darien covered his lips with a hand and grinned. "That's how we get him to switch sides, Spot! _Kill the girl!_"

~*~*~*~*~*~

**Next Chapter: **The Revolutionaries vs. The Aristocrats and the Newsies at long last make an appearance, haha. Also, where have all the elves gone!? 


	8. The Crimson Society

DISCLAIMER: You know the drill. I only own Dewey, Runner, Father Romanik, River, Malakai, Jeshua, Micah, Ahdi, and all the other people who don't belong to crazy NJL/NML chicks or that loony bin called Disney. And the lyrics featured in this chapter are from the _Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring _Soundtrack.

**A.N:** HOLY MOTHER OF PEARLS! There's going to be over 25 characters appearing in this chapter! Fasten those seat belts!!! Oh gosh, do you know I actually took out the time to draw out a web and see how all the characters were linked and junk? It took like...over an hour, lol, of skimming through each chapter and referring back to the cast list to see who was with whom. Though surprising, there's a pretty tight web going on between the characters. .

And even more tightness with the hot and wicked new _Slayer Society_. Woot woot! Oh yea, for those of you who aren't on my mailing list for whatever reasons, _Eternal Avenger_ won a fanfic contest for best portrayal of the word "Innocence". Muahaha. You guys rock! Anyway, 23 reviews not including the newcomers who reviewed every chapter! SCORE! I love you all so much; thank you thank you thank you.

**Shot: **Hey! Thanks so much for your awesome reviews. . Yes, the last chapter should have been longer but it wasn't for any number of reasons, lol. Namely me probably being too lazy or something of the like. Grins. But don't worry, the chapters will be nice and long from here on out.

**Apollonia: **Hey there! Yea I know...Darien and Spot want to kill me, lol. What's up with that! Sniffle Hopefully the suspense isn't killing you, though. Besides, you still have to update more of your own story! Hehe.

**Aura: **Where have all the elves gone indeed. They should be taking care of hobbits as you suggested, but I highly doubt that'll happen, lol. These elves want nothing to do with no one. Then again, if vampires were hot on your trail, you wouldn't blame them, ay. Grins Thanks for the review, and I hope you like this chapter!

**Cerri: **Your nickname always makes me want to start speaking in French for some reason. Hmm, I'll have to think about that sometime, lol. I'm glad you liked the last chapter. I wasn't quite sure what tests to put Runner through so I basically made them up as I went along. Haha. Hopefully they were as wicked as I was hoping they'd be. .

**Tooey: **Well now you can come out of your withdrawal state, m'dear! Nice to hear you enjoyed the detail of the last chapter. You know I'm crazy with description and stuff, lol. I probably could write a whole chapter describing a drop of pee on a toilet seat. Ahem...yea...anyway, before I lose you as my reader, haha, let me thank you for being such a faithful reviewer! And yes, Runner is sexalicious in fangs.

**Raven: **No hyperventilating allowed, doll! Smiles Don't worry, all in time all in time. I'm not quite sure what's going to happen with Darien and Spot wanting to kill me, actually, lol. You know how it is, just make it up as you go along. That's the best formula for writing I can give you. Hehe. Thanks for reading, and enjoy this new chapter!

**Lyf: **Yay, you make an appearance in this chapter. It's about time too. I've been meaning to get the confounded elves back into the storyline, lol. Anyway, hopefully your addiction to the story isn't like...drastic or something. I don't want you to have to attend EA Anonymous classes or something, haha.

**Dreamer: **Yes, Spot was devilish indeed when he retold the story of Runner's tests to Darien. Didn't it make him ten times more sexy? Haha, sorry. I have a thing for nonchalant villains. And Spot is definitely no exception; no m'am. Haha. Enjoy this next chapter, and thanks for reviewing!

**Matches: **You know, you are like crazy about this story. You're going to have to join EA Anonymous classes with Lyf and Sita because all three of you are addicted like flies to poop. Okay, bad simile, lol. Sorry, my muses are fried out. But yea...I do appreciate your enthusiasm extremely. It makes me happy to know my updated chapters make people so happy, and thus to make you even more happier, here's another chapter!

**Brink: **Hey Brinky, it seems like I haven't talked to you in forever! How have you been? . Good, I hope. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing my little story here, hehe. I'm glad you're liking it and I hope you have a nice read with this next chapter!

**Chipper: **Hey hey hey there. I'm happy the last chapter cleared up Spot and Runner's relationship. It was one of the things I was aiming for because I wanted to make sure the animosity between them was evident. But yea, it was a bit short. No worries, though, from here on out all chapters are scheduled to be longer! Smiles

**Sapphy: **Sapph-bomb! Hahaha, I just thought of that...I think I'll have to use it from now on. It's so fun to say. Grins Anyway...yaaaay, you're finally in my story, deary! You are one of my most faithful readers and you have no idea how long I've been wanting to reward you by finally writing in your character! And voila, you are now Slayer Society hit-chick numero uno! I hope you like this chapter!

**Geometrygal: **woot woot! I'm supremely glad you liked the tests. I wasn't quite sure if they were daunting enough, but I received such positive feedback regarding them that I suppose they were. Yay! Thanks for the reviews and I hope you enjoy reading this next chapter!

**Fantasy: **Thanks for the last review, Fants. Don't try to deny it, though. I know the last chapter was terribly short. Sniffles and sobs It won't happen again, I promise! lol. Here's another chapter coming right at ya! Enjoy it, m'dear!

**Goldstranger: **Yes yes, our dear little Runner is indeed a strong cookie. I probably would've passed out if I saw a ghost in the lake, lol. And Spot probably didn't see what Darien saw about killing Dewey because he's an idiot, lol. Nah...who knows. Perhaps he was too busy trying to destroy Runner in every other way that it never dawned on him to destroy him with his love. Smiles Ooo, that was deep...must use in story, lol. Thanks for the review!

**Rumor: **Thanks for the consistent reviews, Rumor. I was going to ask you...are you in this story? I've been accounting how many times you've been reviewing just in case you were (those who review the most maintain the lead roles) but since people sometimes use different names when reviewing, I wasn't sure if such was the case with you. So yea...are you? Lol, and if not, would you like to be?

**Onyx: **Hey O, lol. Sorry, your full name was too long to type out for me at this point. Grins I'm glad you're loving the story, m'dear. I can't wait to start adding your character more into the plot. . Thanks for the reviews, and enjoy this chapter!

**Sita: **Glomps YaaaaY! It's Sita-darling-sweetness-lovey-poo, lol. How's it going, darling? . I saw you updated _Angelsight_...I need to start reading that baby again because I did like it muchly. But did dear little EA really manipulate your emotions so last chapter? You're much too kind, lol. Either that or emotionally unstable. Smirks Hehehe, love!! I'm thrilled you enjoy reading my ruckus so much, sita-beans! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

**The Good Girl: **Hey, don't worry about reviewing every chapter all at once. I'm actually glad you did and I was happy to receive your feedback for each installment. It's always great to see new readers, especially since this story is so huge, lol. I'm glad you weren't daunted by the size of it. Since you're new and all, and since you like the story so much so far, would you like to perhaps have a cameo in it? Smiles Let me know!

**Magpie: **Oh my, reading the story while you're in keyboarding class? Tsk tsk! Lol, my story has become too much of an addiction for you. I hope you didn't get in trouble or anything. That would've majorly sucked. But anyway, here's more EA for you! Enjoy!

**Sparrow: **Yay, she thought the chapter was disturbing! Score! Lol, it's what we strive for, m'dear. I'm glad you're liking this baby so far. Keep on reviewing; I love feedback!

**FalconWolf3: **Hey, you said I evoke emotions in my writing. That's like one of the best compliments I could receive as a writer. Thanks so much for reading my massive story...all seven chapters in a few sittings, wow! Not even I can do that and it's my own story! . But it's good to hear new readers are still jumping on the bandwagon. I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

**Lorein: **Hahaha, perhaps I should write more prologues for you. Smiles But look, the elves are returning in this chapter, so you get to be excited again! Hehe. . Thanks for the reviews!

_**ETERNAL AVENGER**_

_Chapter Seven: The Crimson Society_

__

_New York; 1900_

_When the cold of winter comes, starless night will cover day. In the veiling of the sun, we will walk in bitter rain. But in dreams, I still hear your voice. And in dreams, we will meet again. When the seas and mountains fall, and we come to end of days...in the dark I hear a call...calling me there, I will go there, and back again..._

__

_He (Runner) sighed again, a chill running down his spine at her words. The test. So simple it was to let the words roll of one's tongue, but to actually live through it...to vehemently declare to the very face of the dragon that you would no longer be its puppet... "I'm going to reestablish the Immortal Confederacy. I plan to gather the half-bloods together once and for all; wherever Bumlets has led them I must go, encourage them to join my cause. And Kitten, with her spell-casters and half-blood slaves, I'll be needing them as well. The pirates who drank of the fountain of youth will be very much resourceful to me. But we'll need more. _

"_Dewey, you must get back in touch with the other elementals, and it's of the utmost necessity that we gather the Seekers of the Zion Sect, as we will be traveling to the New World recently established out west to start life anew. There's revolutionaries out there seeking change, and we shall give it to them. Aside from this, the Healers of old must be contacted; I'm in dire need of their assistance..."_

_They continued down the street discussing these imperative matters. The dawn of a New Age was breaking. _

__

_Darien gaped at him. "A _lover_? You didn't tell me our precious nemesis was happily fallen into love." When the other shrugged, he only laughed victoriously, clapped his hands together as if the war had already turned in his favor, and closed the distance between them in effortless strides. "You're quite the idiot, Conlon!" When Spot opened his mouth to protest, Darien covered his lips with a hand and grinned. "That's how we get him to switch sides, Spot! _Kill the girl_!"_

The carriage rolled along the cobblestone pathways on rickety wheels through the vociferous cacophony erupting across Manhattan this particular morning, but the carriage's four occupants exchanged banter within their mini haven as if the greatest care in the world held no more magnitude than deciding upon an outfit for the debutante ball being held later in the evening. David Jacobs and Kathryn Marie Rinehart sat upon the velvet-upholstery of the coach's interior and laughed like snobs about their upcoming wedding, the pleasures of their current engagement, and the caviar-bloated dollars Daddy Rinehart was spending on dresses, main courses, and ballroom rentals.

With blue eyes sparkling and chin jutting out like a grammatical schoolmaster, David went on to explain the journey of their engagement. "Kat, here, desired gowns for her bridesmaids which were lavender in overall nature, but with just the right tint of pink within the actual fabric. We searched shops upon shops, even going so far as to fly to France to see about their lines of fashion, and in the end we landed just the right apparel."

Kat clapped her hands excitedly. She was tall and slim, not a hair out of place as she took great pride in her appearance. "Indeed! Daddy fortunately covered the check, and we've only few steps now until David and I say our –I do's-." They ogled at each other like lovesick Romantics and then kissed lightly on the lips, interlocking their fingers and giggling with sickening adoration.

Lute McDonaghey watched this all with a snort. True, she was Kat's maid of honor, but it certainly didn't mean she had to be in the slightest joyous about the forthcoming marriage. Why should she be? The Rinehart's were pompous side dishes of conceit supported only by their high rankings and endless flow of wealth. Lute despised the girl terribly, but that could've very well had something to do with her being too haughty for anyone in the first place. After all, the McDonaghey's were at the top of the socialites party as far as she was concerned, and the others in the carriage with her no more than the flies encircling cow dung.

Lute took a sip of her white whine and scrunched up her nose at its bitterness. She had short brown hair cut off at her chin, and cheeks as rosy as those of a doll. A gorgeous tan and arresting smile, she always sat incredibly straight, flaunting off her qualities in the hopes of securing a marriage (simply because her mother would throw a fit were there not a potential man in the girl's life). "You jesters will have no idea what trouble I went through this morning trying to acquire a cup of bloody tea."

Kathryn wrenched herself reluctantly from David and sat forward, interested. "Oh?"

"We have this confounded new servant to tend to me, since the last five were unbearably hardheaded. His rightful name is..." She averted her eyes in thought. "Well anyway, what does it matter. He strives to be called Snitch. I, of course, won't pleasure him as so. Snitch!" She scoffed and took another sip of her wine. "The minute I catch him snitching from my jewelry box, he'll have his blasted hands cut off!" Her hazel eyes were narrowed with sincere gravity.

"The nerves of the boy to wish upon himself a nickname!"

"All of the lower class are as so," continued Lute, glancing out the small window of the carriage to observe the revolting masses without. "Look at them, the stupid barbarians. Shaking their fists and yelling at the top of their lungs as if money will suddenly rain from the sky."

"And who are you to sit upon your sky-scraping glory and judge them?" Dante DeFelice Jr. gave her a harsh look, stepping out of his usual quietness to shut the brats up. So high and mighty did they think they were, but as soon as daddy was laid off from his political carnival, they'd join the penniless crowds, shaking their fists and yelling at the top of their lungs as well.

The revolutionaries weren't as rowdy as Lute has deemed them to be, however. In fact, the lower class ruffians were acting in as civilized a manner as possible, especially since they were led by a young woman. Her full name was Sapphire Eyes, but those who knew her well and found themselves in her good favor shortened it to Sapphy. She was a short blonde, somewhat curvaceous with fair skin and faded freckles, but packed within her small stature a personality that could move worlds. She was energetic, loud, boisterous, wise, and a smartass tomboy with street savoir faire when times called for it.

Today, though, she was a bit crestfallen from the failures of her revolt. She'd come to the Victorian street where the richies lived in hopes of being understood by the aristocrats in some rare show of humanity, but when the authority forces had come to break up the crowds, it was obvious victory would not be won today. She tied back her short strawberry blonde hair with a tattered piece of cloth and heaved a sigh as she retreated back to her companions.

"Well, we tried, right?" she offered, dealing a small smile, hoping they didn't hate her for the setback.

Pie Eater, Jake, Crutchy, and Aura were use to failure. They obviously weren't going to despise their very leader simply because fate had spoken differently once more. After all, she was the only thing they had, the only thing for which they woke up in the morning.

"There's other days," piped up Crutchy, flashing his ever present smile as he leaned against a crutch to support himself. "We'll get 'em yet, Sapphy!" He smiled at his girlfriend Aura, and the two retreated back to Duane Street where was situated their lodging house. Pie Eater and Jake lingered around for only a few moments more, comforting the girl and saying their farewell's before they followed after the couple.

Sapphy placed her face in her hands and groaned. Great, just great. Her closest friends were beginning to doubt her mission now, she saw it in the sadness of their eyes. Soon, the whole revolution would crumble upon itself. "What more can I do!" she yelled to the emptying streets, watching as four well-off youth exited from their coach and ascended the staircase leading to the mansion she knew belonged to one of them. She envied them. How they took for granted God's blessings! How they laughed in their expensive homes and paid no mind to those who suffered in the back alleys of the destitute streets.

"God help me!" She threw her hands up in the air, ready to just give it all up. Ready to renounce her title as revolutionary leader at that moment. But from the corner of her eye, she caught three figures stalking toward her and spun around instantly on instinct. A young woman around her height with raven-dark curly hair and midnight eyes approached her, a man at either side of her, maintaining the look of pirates.

"You're the mother of the revolution," the woman stated matter-of-factly. She seemed to be the intellectual observant type, and the scar across her arm rose speculations about her ability to fight as well. "We can offer you the help you desire."

Sapphy looked at her as if she were daft.

One of the men spoke up; he was blatantly Italian with a wry half smile that gave away a hidden sense of humor. "She's not kiddin' either, kid."

"Who you callin' kid?"

He held up his hands in defense. "The name's Racetrack, doll. It's a pleasure to meet ya, but please be kind, I've spent the better part a' me immortality rockin' away with wenches and the last thing I need is another spitfire on me hands."

His companion, bearing an eye patch nodded. "There was another among us, ay. He got in a blasted fight at some bar and got the lights knocked out a' 'im, that he did." He bowed his head in momentary respect. "Ay, Spades, God rest ye soul, brother pirate."

"Am I missing something here?" Sapphy put her hands on her hips and stared at the three, convinced they had just escaped from an unknown insane asylum.

The young woman spoke again. "Call me Tiger. I've journeyed afar in search of you. You've awakened a dragon, dear Sapphy. You've awaken demons, dear _slayer_."

Sapphy's eyes snapped open. _How could they have possibly known? _

__

It wasn't every night the brothel on Lafayette Street sponsored a 'pay what you will' bonanza for the sex-hungry impoverished males of the God-forsaken city, but lady luck just happened to smile sardonically upon the full-moon midnight during which Spot, Jack, and Darien languidly congregated at a splintered round table at the main room's center. Under the breaking floor boards of the second story above them, they listened halfheartedly to the vocalized compliments the brothel's prostitutes garnered from their customers. A dim light engulfed them, casting interesting shadows about their faces, making them look the part of ghouls and wraiths and haunting apparitions from a child's nightmares.

"Why is it we always find need to meet in a blasted whorehouse?" inquired Darien, taking a long swig of a cigarette before returning it to Spot. "Is it so impossible to book accommodations at a country retreat, or a mansion of sorts, or bloody hell I'd even settle for the very white house!" His serpentine green eyes were lighter than usually, his blonde hair grown long and unkempt.

"You know, you do nothing but bloody complain all the time, and I've come to terms with my conclusion of such. You, Darien Bailey, are an infested wad of excrement bleeding stench from all pores." The words malicious indeed, but the voice uttering them was melodic in all its dark-toned quality. A figure drew close from the shadows and entered into the circle of light, revealing itself to be a young woman of incredible stature. Her midnight locks of hair wavy and glowing with an unworldly sheen, and her eyes darker than a closed tomb's obscurity, she pursed her brandy-colored lips at the vampires and challenged them to speak otherwise.

Jack smirked at this, beckoning her to come toward him. "Raven speaks the truth I'd venture to say. Were I at the top of the food chain, maybe I'd easily deem myself superior, but you do so anyhow despite the internal anarchy of your brood."

Raven Beaufont grinned wickedly at the affirmation of her claims and rewarded Jack by reclining wantonly onto his lap, moving slowly against him as she brought his lips to her own in a heated embrace. When finished with him, she turned back toward Darien. "Your whore, Onyx DeFelice, has many a time spat in your face, milord. And you tolerate it!" She scoffed and tossed a fallen strand of hair over her shoulder. "Were I you, I'd see to it the girl was murdered."

"Murdered! Are you daft? Sure, the wench has spirit, but it isn't anything to worry your half-brain over, _milady_."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've gone soft for the damsel." She didn't wait for a reply. She wrenched Jack's hands –which had in the meanwhile navigated to her inner thighs- from her clothing and came to her feet in one swift cat-like motion. "The last thing our empire needs is your confounded weakness."

Spot smothered his cigarette into the palm of his hand, smirking at the feel of semi-intense fire scorching his age-old flesh. "The vampiress raises an excellent point, ally." He, too, arose, closing the distance between himself and Raven in less than six effortless strides. When behind her, he snaked his arms across her lower abdomen, closing his eyes halfway as he took pleasure in simply smelling her aura. Raven sneered self-righteously, telling the elder telepathically just what she intended on making him scream across the rooftops later that night.

_All in time, love, _he replied to her with a soft growl.

_Not so long as the bastard isn't taking care of his business. _She snarled in reply, lashing out at his mental guards, trying to find any barricade not fully fortified. If she could just, for the slightest moment, seduce him by any means, then she had him wrapped around her finger. _Don't think your bed will be warmed tonight should you allow this madness to ensue. _

_You'll be on my bed, milady, whether it's your will or not. _Finally catching on to her would-be inconspicuous mind-meddling, he spun her around in his arms and bared his fangs at her in a volatile hiss. "Don't play nothing but the whore, Raven. It's all you're good for." He kissed her hard, biting her bottom lip with dangerous accuracy, drawing the few drops of blood he wished to suck before shoving her away into the opposite wall where the plaster caved in from the impact. He passed a hand through his blonde locks, glowered at her as if daring her to move, and then turned back to face Darien.

"Our losing influence among even our own kind is what I've been trying to reiterate to you cold blooded idiots for the past _centuries_!" He snatched the chair upon which he'd earlier been sitting on and flung it across the room to emphasize his supreme rage. "I don't care if you have to bloody stab your fledglings every time they get out of line. Should you falter," he paused to look at both Jack and Darien for a second dead in the eyes, "I'll simply slaughter the brats myself. Are we understood?"

Darien crossed his arms, terribly indignant. "I'd find your avowals more convincing if you mirrored the same actions with your very own cousin, who continues to defy you on a daily basis."

The room fell to a shuddering silence as the four vampires experienced the wave of fury erupting between them at that moment. It was evident Spot had every intention to rip Darien apart organ by organ, lib by limb. It was evident he had every intention to unleash a long-suppressed wrath upon them all and bathe in their blood by dawn. But something unexpected happened. Two mortals from the forgotten outside world suddenly stumbled into the brothel.

The first one was tall with long legs, a petite freckled blonde donning a grey hat and the most hideous street-rat attire the vampires had ever beheld. Her companion's apparel was just as tattered, complimented with trousers and unused suspenders hanging at their sides. She, too, bore a hat upon her chocolate locks of hair and chirped away happily about the number of newspapers she had successfully sold without deceiving her buyers. She stopped mid sentence, however, upon espying the four individuals in the room before them.

"Uh, Fantasy, looks like we got company..." She nudged her taller comrade and nodded toward the other exotic-looking, mysterious quartet.

The blonde one, called Fantasy, looked up and nearly gasped at the sight. "You sure we in the right place, Chipper?" She was already terribly coy around those with whom she wasn't acquainted, and these four looked ready to slay someone!

Chipper took half a step forward, as if summing up the situation. She was more adventurous than other girls her age, and wasn't about to back down for anyone. After all, following the dealings she and Spritzer had shared with halfbloods back in 1692 Massachusetts, she had a knack for ripping apart the facade of the undead. She, of course, had since taken upon herself the guise of a newsgirl, and so tried to keep her aura low-key as to not be found out. "Do any of ya know where our pal Tez might be?"

"Who in bloody hell is Tez?" Darien snapped, infuriated by the audacity of mortals to storm into the brothel and interrupt an altercation.

Fantasy bit her bottom lip shyly and opened her mouth to reply. She couldn't deny the fact that this painstakingly emulated a scene straight from the fiction she was always reading. What was it about those four that woke in her such a dread? And what was it about Chipper suddenly that made her seem the role of a warrior princess? "She's a close friend of ours; went dallyin' across Brooky with 'er boyfriend, Jake. They usually come by this way..."

Raven, not able to stand the reek of worn guttersnipe clothing any longer, climbed to her feet and surveyed the girls with the utmost ridicule. "Why is it you two dress as so? Why are you clothed in those disgusting breeches and shirts?" She reached out a hand to take Fantasy's sleeve between her fingers, and then gnarled her face in disgust. "It's as if I've touched dirt."

"We're newsies," Chipper said defensively, the words sliding through clenched teeth. She knew it, then. She could tell by their pale complexions and netherworld demeanors that they were different, that they simply didn't belong in this city. But she couldn't place names, or species for that matter. "We sell papes, ya know? It's why our hands are dirty?" She rose up her palms to expose the ink-smeared fingers. "It's how we make a livin'. We live in a lodgin' house with our leader, and then..."

"With your leader?" Spot arched an eyebrow at this. He was officially interested in the words the girl spoke. "Tell me about this leader. Does he hold great sway over your actions? Do you obey him fiercely? Is he something of a god?"

Fantasy and Chipper looked at each other, somewhat confused. The former decided to take up the response. "Well I don't know 'bout seeing 'im as a god, but we do respect 'im. He makes the rules of the lodgin' house and everyone has to follow basically. Our current leaders are Flame in Manhattan, and Scapegoat in Brooky. We don't get new leaders 'less they's renounce their throne or if someone overthrows them."

Spot smirked at this, his cyan eyes already calculating the possibilities. Before the girls caught up with his deliberation, he seized them by the arms, informed them he knew nothing of this Tez or her Jake, and shoved them out of the brothel before slamming the door closed in their faces. Then, he turned to confront his allies and grinned like a devil with a sinister prospect.

"Tomorrow morning we will murder the leaders of the newsies, and will assume their roles afterward. Then _we _will tell the flea-infested masses how to act, what to think, and why their lives depend on doing our every bidding." The words were final.

Donning a gown and cloak of exquisite make, Lyf whistled three soft notes to her white stallion and urged him into a delicate trot, each hoof beat hammering sorrow into her heart. Her people were leaving Naphthalene in wake of recent events, never to return to the vampire-infested streets of the world. The Roman Catacombs would serve as their haven until the ships from the west came to bear them away horizon-bound, where tears never fell and hearts never broke. But Lyf suspected she'd shed many drops of crystalline salty water nonetheless, for behind her was her home, her pride, and her love.

The other elves journeyed on with not a single trouble in the world. Solemn and unceremoniously did they amble forth, reminding themselves by the minute of the paradise awaiting them and forsaking all the chivalric codes of their elven forbearers. The codes of protecting the helpless and defending the Immortal Confederacy were washed away by the sands of apathy now, and the beautiful superior race sought nothing more than to save their own hide and flesh from darkness.

Lookout and Les riding side by side couldn't even find pleasure in their usual mischief. The days had grown too morose, and the nights too horrific for their liking. Their talk no longer was colored by the array of faeries and nymphs, but by the bitter red of vampire folklore and old wives' tales. They didn't discuss dodge ball and chess; they talked of slaying methods and the effects of drinking a pureblood's scarlet drops. Little by little did their innocence escape them, and harder and harder did it become to reclaim it.

"I wish I was a vampire," declared Les most prestigiously. "I would gallivant from town to town and scare the life source from my victims!"

Lookout laughed from atop her horse and shook her head. "Nay, that's hardly half of what I'd do to mine! I'd lock the women and children up in a cold cell, and torture them with words of how I'd slowly see their deaths!" She giggled with him but then stopped short when from in front of them, their elder sister Lorein whirled her horse around and glowered.

"How dare you speak such blasphemy!" She was aghast by their role play, disbelieving that her own siblings of pure elven blood could aspire to become vampires! "Do you not understand the havoc vampires wreak? Do you not understand their brutal temperaments and merciless personalities? They wish to kill you, brethren. They wish to suck the very marrow from your fragile bones and then crush your skulls between their fingertips." She was livid now, implying diction she wouldn't dare use before her father.

Les stammered. "L-Lorein, we were only speaking in jest. Truly."

"Jest or no, I won't tolerate such mindless conversation throughout our odyssey." With one last elderly look, she slackened her horse's reins and let him continue walking.

Atop an edifice just yards away from the parade of elves waited three stone-like sentinels, eyes piercing the darkness with the phosphorescent glow of a jungle cat's irises. For the most part, they remained motionless effortlessly, conveying the facade of being one with the mortar of the building, but of a sudden, one spoke.

"Which is the elf whose heart we must strike?"

The one on her left snarled in annoyance. "Is your bloody head made from lead, for God's sake! Lyf! The one we must aim for is Lyf, the heiress of the confounded throne!" The short-tempered comrade –called Magpie- was tall and slender, with the experienced body of her day-job: prostitution. She was also assertive, her dark eyes never once leaving the line of elves.

"My apologies," the other replied, cowering away slightly. Her name was Tooey. She hadn't been a vampiress for too terribly long and even when she was initiated into the coven of blood-drinkers, it hadn't necessarily been her notion of amusement. She'd done it simply to draw closer to her companions, and not a day went by when she didn't regret her entrance into the dark world. She looked about her warily, running her cold hands across her equally cold arms as if she was afraid some god would send lightning her way. She wouldn't blame the deity should he choose to undertake such a task; after all, she had betrayed Twitch...

She sighed, not wanting to relive the memories, her honey-shaded eyes growing sad. What had he expected? They were two different people. She a pureblood and he a mongrel. Could love really be established between them? Nay. It had been idiotic to seduce him into villainy only to fall madly in love with the creature. Now he'd joined up with Runner Conlon, and there was no stopping the halfbloods in slaughtering their superior counterparts. She shuddered at the idea. Would Twitch truly hold a stake to her heart and end her? Would he?

"Where's your mind, Tooey!" called out another authoritative voice.

Tooey sighed and turned to face Matches. For a persistent loudmouth, the latter sure was short! In fact, she was the most virtually challenged of the trio, standing at an amazing height of five foot two inches. Her aggression made up for her shortcomings, however. She was a spitfire hell raiser straight from the Underworld it seemed sometimes, and would burn down a building before ever muttering she was sorry. She, too, was in love with a halfblood, one called Common...but she'd decapitate herself before confessing the clandestine relationship to her sire, Jack Kelly.

"Just wondering," said Tooey, "what are we in this for? I know we're minions to Spot, Jack, and Darien...but what reward do we reap from such? When I was with Twitch, I felt safe and secure and, and _loved_. But now I feel like the marionette in some bloody conspiracy and I can't help but contemplate my intentions!"

Matches listened to her intently, intertwining her finger with one of her blonde-highlighted locks of natural brown hair. Love. It was something she had forsaken when leaving Common for the walk of a vampire. She'd left behind his passion, humor, optimism, and his ability to see the good in everyone...she'd left it all for a hell bound hayride with devil incarnates. "I know, Too, but this is the choice we made, and we don't have time anymore for regrets."

Magpie nearly hurled at the words. "Give me a lousy break. You both are the sappiest vampires I've ever known. On the verge of an assassination and all you can chirp about is past relationships!"

"I'm sure if Falcon came tottering to your lair with a stake, you'd be might heartbroken as well!" Matches snapped, her green eyes ablaze.

"Falcon would never betray me; he loves me more than he loves himself."

"We shall see about that, Magpie."

The prostitute glared at the duet and then turned back toward the elves, readying herself to pull the trigger of the crossbow, which would thus launch a poisoned-tip arrow toward the elven maid called Lyf. "Any minute now," she whispered, grinning with delight as her victim came just within range. "There's no better way to make it a night than to murder elves." She was about to fulfill the duties given her by their sires when something unforeseen occurred. Enraged by the indifferent comments of her companions, Tooey brought back her booted foot and kicked hard at the crossbow just as Magpie sent the arrow to launch.

Gasping in horror, the prostitute gaped as the arrow soared downward toward the elves but instead simply tore the fabric off a horse-drawn carriage. She turned toward the others. "You horrid beasts! Don't think Jack won't hear of this!"

Tooey spat onto the concrete at the other's feet and glared. "Tell Jack he's short one vampiress, because I rid myself tonight of this damned guise!"

But Matches gripped her arm tightly and pulled her close. "Tooey, this is all we've got. You've nowhere to go, love. Twitch won't take you back after the pain you've caused him; you know that. We're in this together now. All for one, and one for all." The other relented reluctantly, and was led away by Matches as they followed an incredibly livid Magpie.

Down below in the streets, the elves went hysterical, screaming and crying from the speedy attack. King Raeb galloped toward his retinue of manservant's and guards and inquired as to what had passed. "Are my children safe!" he demanded. "Where are they? From whence did the arrow come? I want answers, and I want them now!"

His most trusted guard, an elf from the Oriental lands called Swifty, immediately came to the king's side and bowed lowly with the utmost respect. "Your highness, your children are quite safe." Locks of the lightest brown hair fell past his forehead and when he finally stood upright, he towered over the king, tall and well-built. His face was disciplined, with high cheek bones and eyes ever alert. "_That, _milord, was an assassination attempt against your eldest daughter. The halfbloods are apparently disturbed by our departure."

Lyf dismounted her horse and marched over to her father. "He speaks lies, father!" she said, her voice passionate and heartfelt. "The halfbloods would never attempt such a thing! You know that!"

"Perhaps her divineness wishes to believe it as such so long as her love is consumed by a very halfblood."

King Raeb was astounded. "Lyf!"

But the elven maid only glowered in return. "Even if that very halfblood were to severe my emotional attachments to him in the foulest of manners, I would yet stand here before you and proclaim that the halfbloods wish us no ill."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, milady."

"And desperate measures call for lack of heart." She gave him a long, hard look, and then gazed upon her father. "And if there's one thing I can assure you of, milord, it's that the halfbloods have more heart in them than the most patriotic of souls. I would swear such words on my own mother's grave."

"Lyf, I demand you to silence!" The king was flushed with anger. Anger for his outspoken daughter, and the allegations Swifty placed upon the halfblood race. He would hear nothing of this now, out in the open where the assassin could very well attempt another slay. "We will discuss this in the comfort of the catacombs."

"I refuse it!" Lyf's face was set firmly, her brown eyes like coals in the fire. "I refuse to take refuge with cowardly elves who point fingers of accusation at everyone but themselves. No more will I hear rubbish of halfbloods trying to take our lives. I bid you farewell, father. Adieu." She turned on her heels, jumped atop her horse in one high leap, and rode off in the opposite direction, her horse kicking up dust as if to hide their trail.

Lookout and Lorein didn't even have to think before they, just as well, followed after their elder sibling. True, she often led them on the wildest of misadventures, but being caged with age-old elders wasn't exactly their idea of a good time. Les remained behind, simply because he'd already dismounted his own steed, and by the time he tried to start forward to flee, his father had clamped a hand on his shoulders. The king looked at his three daughters with much sorrow, his heart like a piece of lead in his chest. "Follow them, Swifty. And make sure no harm comes unto them. I will lead my people to safer lands, and expect my daughters' return by dawn."

Swifty bowed obediently and then whistled for his own stallion, a glint in his eyes. This was why he abhorred vampires and their hybrid allies. He'd see to their end most definitely. He'd see to their end no matter what.

Dewey delivered a performance on the four strings of her violin like never before, awakening a rhapsodic fury that would've made the musicians in Beethoven's symphony jealous, but in the end she only garnered the unenthused applause of three individuals amongst the mass gathered in Rumpelstiltskin's Pub, and in the end her perfectionist approach to her music once more went unrewarded. She didn't understand why Father Romanik insisted she remain in the slums of New York when she could very well voyage back to Ireland, and fellowship with touring opuses bound for fame, but she argued not with the man, for the last thing the aging man needed was another nerve gone haywire.

She packed up the violin, rosin, and cotton cloth back into their case and descended the stage with a careless two-foot jump toward the nearest table of the audience, where sat a young boy of six years grinning up at her. "It was extraordinary, Dewey!" he uttered in his diction, which surprisingly enough was not slurred by the learning tongue of a small boy. His words were well enunciated and pronounced, half the time fooling others into thinking they were exchanging dialogue with a prince who'd seen thirty summers!

"Apparently not extraordinary enough." She looked upon Neeko with a sad smile. It had taken ages (because he had not yet been born) but the last elemental to complete the traditional quartet had finally been found in him. Just a boy, she thought to herself, and yet he maintained the most destructive force of them all: fire, to compliment the young woman's mothering of the water element.

"Do the people of this country not appreciate music?"

"The people of this country don't appreciate anything but their decaying carcasses." Dewey was, of course, being harsh toward the mortal race, for in the numerous decades during which she and Runner had established a home in New York after 1792, she'd known nothing from humanity but hell. They were merciless cannibals who slew their own kind and spat in the face of all things true and holy. They enslaved one another, waged war with their fellow brothers, and conducted themselves like stray circus animals brainwashed by drugs.

_They aren't worth saving! _She had argued with Runner, time and time again. _Why do we bother? Why not join the elves to their lands and live in peace for once? Why battle the vampires for –this-?_

He would only look at her solemnly and reply, "because a threat to justice somewhere is a threat to justice everywhere."

"Dewey?"

The water nymph snapped out of her thoughts and looked upon the boy. Seeing his young serene face brought a smile to her face. Upon locating the last of the elemental lineage in New Zealand whilst in the middle of a summoning, she'd taken Neeko back to her current residence in the United States. He wasn't high-maintenance fortunately, and expected less from her than the average six-year old. He'd had no family prior to the move, only a cricket named Moonshine and a haystack roofing over the 4 foot by 4 foot area he called home.

"Can we go home now?" he asked with a sweet cherubic face angels would've envied. He folded his arms on the table and grinned up at her, wondering if she'd make him a grilled cheese sandwich once they reached their apartment. "Will Runner be home tonight?"

Her heart sunk at the mention of her lover. They'd seen each other so little these past few weeks. She was beginning to wonder if the halfblood even remembered her, if he even indulged his mind with thoughts of the girl he'd courted centuries ago in a gothic cathedral. "I don't know when he'll be home, Neeko. He's gone to seek healers down south. And we can't quite go home yet, young master, for we've a meeting to attend and one of which I've been reminding you again and again this month." She strung her violin case over her shoulder, took the little boy's hand, and led him to the dark stairway at the other end of the pub.

"Must we go to the meeting, Dewey? Why can't we simply let them do as they wish? Aren't the vampires our enemies? Doesn't it make sense to you maintaining a fellowship especially devoted to those who seek their demise?"

"Their being our enemies doesn't define the legalities in our wanting to slay them, Neeko!" They began to ascend the rickety stairs step by step, dreading each inch that drew them closer to the murderous fanatics beyond. "What does it solve, if not more blood? What does it reconcile, if not more hatred?"

He pouted. "They murdered my parents as if they were cattle. I'd be confounded to hell if I didn't for one moment entertain a thought of vengeance."

She looked at him, astonished by his word choice. For a six year old to speak of murder! She didn't have time to chastise him, though, for before she could oblige her wishes and simply run home without dealings with the ones upon whom she now called, she was within the very doorway of their darkened room. An oblong table took up the middle grounds, standing bare under the semi-dim illumination of the above antique chandelier. Eight individuals sat around this table, some with arms folded before them, others tapping fingertips impatiently across the hardwood surface. All had the look of fiery ambition in their irises; all creased their lips in a single straight line that spoke of a want which could only be fulfilled through murder.

"Took you long enough," a pristine voice snapped from the shadows.

Dewey hustled toward the table with Neeko at her side and plopped down upon one of the chairs about the table, pulling the young boy onto her lap. "My fondest apologies, Sapphy. Those of us not of the revolutionary class like to make a living from day to day."

Sapphy turned to face the water nymph, her motionless demeanor even more daunting that any other she could've taken upon herself. "What's that suppose to mean? Tell me, love, do I offend you?" Her conveyed tone made it apparent she had no desire to make amends should an altercation arise between the two. There was a tension between the two young women thicker than the oceanic borders between Australia and southern Europe.

"Indeed you do. Your sanguinary, bloodthirsty pursuits appall me. I want nothing more than to vomit each time I hear of a vampire being slain at your crimson-smeared hands. You and your mindless lackeys deserve a future far horrifying than the one for which Spot is bound, for whereas he lashes out with demonic revulsion, your only retaliation is not peace but a damned genocide which will spill blood upon this entire country!"

"_Silence, Immortal!" _She stormed to her feet and slammed a fist upon the table. "You and your confounded eternal race are among the most indecisive of species in the Confederacy. I am tired of this incessant rubbish, of your carping and complaints, and of those who will simply wallow in their fear while the vampires terrorize our communities!"

"Fool," the other hissed. "You're the only mortal in your little congregation here. You've just slandered the names of all your followers." She smirked sardonically, and then took Neeko in her arms as she arose and marched from the accursed haven.

Sapphy growled and pounded her other fist onto the table. "Curses! Curses unto us all should we fail to bite the vampires back where it hurts most." She shut her eyes tightly as if to muse upon some foreign concept for a moment, and then heaved a massive exhale of breath to calm herself. "Alright, moving along, for I haven't the time nor the heart to open up discussion and deal with each individual's emotions one by bloody one."

She turned around with hands clasped behind her back and strutted to a table upon which was draped a heavy velvet blue cloth. She grabbed one of its ends and tore it from the piece of furniture to reveal a wide display of swords, daggers, maces, and crossbows. Blades glistening like dust from the stars and polished wood glowing like newly crafted hardware, the weapons were something to be gasped at, something which demanded extreme awe from those who beheld them.

"Our repertoire," she announced proudly, grinning viciously at her would-be protégés. She ran a finger across one of the blades, imagining the divine dream of seeing it pierce a vampire's heart. "You each will be assigned one of these beauties to master. It will be your responsibility to guard it well, to never let a pureblood seize it from you. Swear death before it's taken from your possession!"

She faced them, then, and looked upon each potential slayer of the _Crimson Society_. There were the pirates Race and Blink, the elf Swifty, the prostitute Streak, the aristocrat Dante, the halfblood Stutter, and the mysterious immortal who called himself Falcon. Her heart swelled anxiously and with thorough satisfaction; this was going to be quite successful.

Falcon's limbs burned with treachery. He, himself, was among the vampires Dewey had earlier affronted and yet here he was acquiring membership for a society that pledged to rid the world of vampires. He wasn't a spy, nor was he a Trojan horse ushered forth by his sires. He came because his heart was burdened with remorse. He came because it made him grieve whenever he saw the terror his brethren awoke. He didn't want to be a vampire anymore; quite frankly, he didn't want to _be _anymore. And he surely wished nothing more than to destroy the Conlon dynasty and its heirs. Magpie was going to slay him if she found out first...

Dante DeFelice Jr. meanwhile fought his own demons. His Italian family had a rich history of meddling with the undead. His forefathers had been slayers, and their ancestors before them. But not all inter-species relations had been victorious on the DeFelice side. One particular ancestor, one Gemma DeFelice, had fallen prey to the sinister intents of the vampiric lords. So pure and radiant had she been, but they had enslaved her and had taken her away to expose of her as they pleased. "I shan't rest until I avenge my elder's murder." His eyes burned with sincerity.

Sapphy cared nothing for their reasoning. She cared nothing for the pasts that had led them to join the _Crimson Society _or the losses throughout those lives. All she knew was one thing: she now had the foundation upon which she could slaughter every last damned vampire.

Review!


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